


The Reality Bender Hypothesis

by JayBarou



Series: Science has little to do against Night Vale (but they don't know) [3]
Category: SCP Foundation, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, On Hiatus, Sentient grass - Freeform, because shit hit the fan in my life, not abandoned tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayBarou/pseuds/JayBarou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The investigation advances, but never in the direction it is supposed to go. Days go missing, grass can be a lovely pet, toasts float, they are running out of money, the investigation on the Voice is painfully slow... what are those envelopes? Job offer from Strexcorp?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry 1

**Date:** Jul 01 2012 – Jul 15 2012

 **Scientist in charge:** Carlos Albada

 **Frequency of experiences:** bimonthly

 **Participants:** remaining 7 D Class personnel as follows: D-68464, D-68465, D-68466, D-68470, D-68471, D-68473 and D-68478.

 **Summary of field experience:** D Class personnel will willingly listen to the Voice of Night Vale (status as SCP-1956 denied until further notice) in the lab to determine the range of its competences.

 **Result:** Inconclusive. I require some support, supplies and access to research material class RB-45/J

**Notes:**

After your negative to my request of any kind of outside help, this investigation has been damaged. That decision has paralyzed any and all experiments; forcing my hand to change the nature of the investigation. Experiments will become logbooks, the environment will not be controlled. The main difference will be less action and more description.

My personnel’s mood swings between afraid, uncomfortable and “at home”. All moods are equally disturbing and understandable. Last recording day was intense for everyone. However, only D-68471 retains any hope of leaving regardless of hardships. ~~Some days I share their feeling of despair.~~ Their willingness to stay makes them open to collaboration.

My intention for these fifteen (15) days is testing my theory of the reality bender.

Also, on a personal note, don’t expect quality in these reports if you are not going to finance my research.

* * *

 

**Logbook:**

**_Entry 1_ **

It’s 23:24, Night Vale time, and this log will contain the events of Friday and Saturday, since I’ve had a bad case of food poisoning and I have not been able to get up until midday. Further logs will try to fit a 24 hour schedule.

**Friday:**

On Friday we stayed up for the whole night in order to make the most of the few hours we had. At 00:05 we watched the four volunteers who wanted to leave, departing. D-68470 went on foot; she took the direct way. D-68471 took the van and went through the city centre on the grounds that frequented areas would be safer. D-68473 took a bus. D-68478 went on foot through the outskirts on the grounds that the less frequented areas would also have less monsters.

The moon was shining the whole time, glowing with an eerie green light and too close to be considered normal.

D-68464’s report is on add 2.1. She left at 00:10 and came back at 22:30. Hers is the only report, the rest of the personnel refused to this because of various reasons. What I’ve been able to find out is in add 2.2.

D-68465 came with me. He kept saying he was my “bodyguard” (meaning “jailor”) until the sun rose several hours later. The streets were empty except for the odd passerby. Every single one of them changed sidewalks upon sight. We roamed the streets with D-68465 pointing out some locations, most of them still closed. D-68465 asked me for the reason for our “little sciency thing”. I told him we were meant to be studying the Voice.

“He _is_ quite something, huh?” was his answer “Hell, even his bipolar changes are lovable, a bit like my little brother. God how I miss him!”

I couldn’t let him know that I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I changed topics asking if his brother was outside waiting for him.

“He is dead. That’s why I’m stuck here, really” I must have reacted somehow, probably some shaken or distrustful expression, because he went on. “Some idiots at school were making fun of him. He never said anything because the kids were A+, teachers loved them. They took their pranks too far, got away with it, and I guess I retaliated with my own prank. I hope they rot in hell, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Peter was only 13.”

He went silent and I remembered his aseptic personnel sheet where “Murderer; 3 minors (16, 17, 15)” was written in Times New Roman 12 points. This is a report, I shouldn’t be writing unrelated, non scientific or non descriptive lines, and personal stories of our Ds are not supposed to reach us, but I would like to remind whoever is in charge of selecting Ds, that we’d rather have inmates who won’t make us feel personally involved. Or guilty. Ruthless psychopaths, that kind of stuff. Don’t bother sending any more Ds here.

Now, the real purpose of our night stride was to familiarize myself with the city. I took with me analogical and digital cameras as well as my tablet (D-68465 got himself a baseball bat). I tried to compile images and detailed descriptions of every aspect of the town that we came across. I’ve decided to create a Night Vale visual guide. This is not a side project, but the first step to learn if the Voice is a reality bender or not.

As Dr. Tyler stated in “Quantum Physics when the Rules don’t Apply” there are 4 classes of reality benders. If you know the theory, you can skip the following paragraphs.

  * **Class 1. Aka.- Partial benders**. They affect the world surrounding them. Can’t change natural laws, memories or time (meaning pictures of modified things are not affected without their active interaction). They usually need tactile or visual contact (although this case could be auditory contact?)



 

  * **Class 2. Aka.- Benders** They affect a big area surrounding them, their abilities change from subject to subject. Don’t need any contact. They tend to leave traces in memories and some analogical recordings, both text and pictures. Sometimes they don’t affect digital copies at all. This only happens when they are careless, distracted or trying to handle more than their limits.



 

  * **Class 3. Aka.- Massive Benders aka.- Gods**  Uncontainable. Untraceable. They don’t have a limit to their abilities. Our only chance to learn their true nature is if they reveal it themselves. They also tend to be cheerful and mysterious. They are always happy with any outcome since they are the ones who bent it that way. They don’t have enemies nor do they hate people. They destroy everything they don’t like. They resemble humans/animals/creatures with long lives. Hard to kill, but not impossible.



 

  * **Class 4. Aka.- Reality Creators** They work from outside reality/this dimension. They probably don’t have any human shape. We don’t have practical knowledge, but we have theorized that they are the ones who control Massive Benders and see that they don’t bend reality beyond repair.



 

Reality benders can be fluid. Changeable. Very powerful class 1 or very lazy class 3. They could be class 4 on a vacation, for all we know.

With that information in mind, I personally think the Voice is anything from a powerful clever Partial Bender to a 3 class containing himself in just Night Vale. (No idea of his motivation yet) My best chance to get him is to find something that upsets him enough to force him to act. I’ll need the Ds assistance if I want to know what would upset him without listening to his voice.

D-68465 and I started to notice the Night Vale customary oddities when the sun woke up the birds and they started to chirp to the tune of “Danse Macabre”. I had the distinct feeling that we had already passed the same house twice, despite going in a straight line the whole time and told D-68465 so. He nodded; apparently, one has to pass the same street three times before coming out from the other side.

It works as a regular street when going in the opposite direction. We went up and down the street several times because I had heard of one-way micro wormholes, but I had never experienced one.

D-68465 took us to a different street where he knew we could get non poisonous coffee. It was a modern shop called “Blazefem”; the logo showed a unicorn, or a horse with two spiral-shaped horns. It was green on white background. The shop looked like a franchise and reminded me of something very strongly, as if I had been already there. I’m positive I’ve never seen such a shop.

They gave us a coffee “darker than the night”; it looked like a hole in a cartoonish way, “hot as hell” by which I mean the paper cups still had bright embers on the right side. When we were able to touch the cups without scorching it proved to be “sweet as love” as the barista told us with a wink to D-68465.

“Perfect coffee for perfect Carlos and his scientists.” I was wearing my lab coat so it was not a very clever deduction. However, she was being very nice to us, so I didn’t point out her pentagram-shaped pupils or how she didn’t need to move or talk at all to get our orders. She did move; but in the way a flame moves.

D-68465’s cup didn’t have numbers on it, but then, the barista and he seemed to know each other.

Before leaving she called us back. It was still very soon so the coffee shop was empty, but other voices could be heard or maybe her voice made strange echoes in the room. “I see you don’t have a bloodstone with you” She reached under the counter “We have a special offer for newcomers, but we don’t have many newcomers so I usually forget, here.”She grabbed D-68465’s wrist and fastened this “bloodstone” before handing me a second one.

I thought it was going to be a heliotrope bracelet, but it is not. It is mercurial, (elastic?) light, dark red and magnetic. It looks oddly similar to whatever D-68468 was oozing when he died.

The barista wished us a good day and we left. D-68465 took me to the main streets. The population here is wonderfully strange. I had already guessed by the cloth shops with astounding articles. Armors, bright pink formal suits, feathered gloves, floating heels. But seeing them wearing them is completely different. Just outside the post office there was a white man wearing an Indian costume and I saw several people with hoods before D-68465 warned me that they were dangerous.

My camera malfunctioned only twice; once when I took pictures of some suspicious looking clouds and only got vanilla smelling nothing, and again when we passed by the nonexistent house. However, I didn’t bother taking pictures. Instead I checked again how this house between the correct numbers can’t be seen through cameras or sensors. The camera worked fine for the rest of the day.

Just opposite the nonexistent house we found a souvenir shop where I would be able to buy the biggest map of the city that I could get my hands on.

The woman inside had a very strong Italian accent, mid 60s, goes by the name of Ilaria. She provided me with a map in a matter of seconds and then encouraged us to explore the shop. It was bigger than it looked from the outside and there were all kinds of marvels. An invisible reproduction of some clock tower that became visible every hour for a few seconds, a perfect Klein bottle, Penrose stairs that work and figures to give Escher a headache.

That’s when I lost D-68465 and things went out of the planned way. I saw the minerals collection I had when I was seven; it was there, in the back of the shop, in the farthest place that my eyes could see. It was not there when I reached the spot. Instead I found several aisles; each longer and darker than the last. Far down one of them I saw a picture of my family and me as if we had been together this very morning.

I followed that aisle for a long time, but the picture _was_ there and I could hold it in my hands; it didn’t disappear. I saw mama in her apron, a worried look in her features, and I knew she was thinking of me. My nephews were there too, they had grown since the last time I saw them.

At the moment I didn’t think it strange. Why wouldn’t there be a picture of us in there?

Then I heard the disembodied voice of the shopkeeper. “Caro bambino, I’ve everything your head desires, resta chi” It sounded appealing, but I can’t remember why. I looked up from the picture then and I found myself lost and alone. There were aisles everywhere and they had no end. However, I felt at home, not compelled to run, I didn’t see the point in leaving.

“Where are you from, tesoro?” I told her and I didn’t know the answer anymore.

“Where do you live, mio caro?” Again, I told her our address and immediately forgot.

There was a crashing sound, but I didn’t care, I was focused on Ilaria, she started to sound hurried.

“What do you do, giovane?” I even forgot what “science” meant after answering.

“What is your name?” After that answer, I felt the mental equivalent of a whiplash.

“Carlos? As in, Carlos the Scientist? Oh! I should have put on my occhiali this morning. I’m terribly sorry. Let’s go back with your amico. He was getting certainly restless!”

She appeared by my side and took me by the arm. In two or three steps we were back at the front. D-68465 was breathless and had his bat prepared to strike. When he saw us, he dragged me by the other arm and put himself between Ilaria and me.

“Don’t get out of my sight again!” He shouted at me while pushing to take us out of the shop. I told him to calm down.

“Calm?! You’ve been gone for four friking hours while I was stuck here unable to leave! I thought she had sucked your blood.”

“I wouldn’t do such a thing” Ilaria interposed in a calm tone.

The invisible tower clocks chimed revealing that it was 17:00 indeed.

“Voi! Poverini! You must be starving! I’ve got enough food for three upstairs. Stay! Accept it as a forgiveness offering for stalling you. It is not pasta! Don’t ask for pasta! Or pizza! But, please, stay!”

I was ready to accept the invitation, but D-68465 didn’t agree.

“We are not staying in this damned cage. God, what did she do to you? Can’t you remember? She’s evil! I hope she has not done any permanent damage to that brain of yours.”

He tried to haul me out, but I resisted.

“Ok, this might sound weird to you, but, man, she was going to kill you, we gotta get out of here!”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.” was Ilaria’s answer.

“Of course she wasn’t going to kill me. She was feeding from my memories. Killing me would have been a silly move; a corpse has no memories.” I’m noting here my answer because apparently I shocked both of the other speakers.

D-68465 didn’t calm down, but I had picked Ilaria’s interest. She was smiling.

“You are a clever one, giovane. You noticed! And remembered! I don’t mean to be nosy, but why are you not running away? Now you know I’m a spider.”

She led us to some stairs we had not seen before. I shrugged and told her that she had stopped, so I was not in any immediate danger. In fact, that was just the logical reason; I was too intrigued to leave, also, running away or being scared felt unnatural. I’m not sure if that last part was a secondary effect of her previous influence on me, the consequence of working for the Fundation for too long, or my own personality.

I went upstairs after her and D-68465 followed because I have “the self preservation instinct of a lemming”. At the end of the stairs there was a flat that smelled of herbs and stale water. Her food was fantastic and her conversation was even better, a rough transcript can be found in add. 3.5 (note to self: Take a recorder whenever going out) She let me ask about her, her abilities, and her living in Night Vale. Then, I got carried away explaining why I had become a scientist during dessert, I got up and paced; which took me close enough to see Venice through a window. In fact, through all of her windows.

I opened one of them, mid explanation and when she saw my interest she clarified why her windows opened to the _Canalazzo_ of her hometown.

Meanwhile, D-68465’s conversation had dropped to zero even when he was directly addressed. Ilaria assured me she had done nothing, it was just shock, probably. I’m surprised he managed to eat. He only regained speech when we were back home and he had a can of beer at hand.

“Dude, you are worse than them. I give up on defending you if you are going to keep going postal like that. You were totally soaking up every word of the old spider woman thing. No more, ask for someone else, I quit, can I quit? No more body guarding for me.”

D-68465 told me that night that I had made a deal with Ilaria. It looks like I gave her one of my bad memories. But I can’t remember, of course. D-68465 knows, and says that I’m better off without it.

I’m inclined to think that Ilaria is an SCP, or an individual, on her own. She doesn’t look like a Reality bender illusion; she’s got a solid background and well-connected memories from before Night Vale. However, I still could be wrong and she is the Voice’s making too.

I will have to find out if Night Vale is a conglomeration of paranormal and supernatural things/beings, or if they are produced here. I’ve already started a search with my scarce resources here; I’ll need to visit the library at some point if I don’t get information from the outside.

Back at the shop, we were trapped. Not by Ilaria’s doing, but because the strange cloud I had tried to take pictures of was right over the city and dropping corpses; animal carcasses. Some of them were big enough and fell with the right speed to kill a human. I had never seen some of the animals.

Ilaria apologized because she had sold her last titanium umbrella last week and had not stocked up since then. We silently watched the corpses’ fall waiting for it to stop.  Fortunately, the door of the nonexistent house opened and someone stepped out.

I took my camera; it didn’t record him either. He was carrying a big metal umbrella; it held more similarities to an upside-down parabolic with extra wires to hold the weight comfortably. Ilaria called him and he approached us jumping over piles of road kill.

“Mr. Chen, would you mind escorting these two giovani back home?”

“But, of course, Oh! Aren’t you Mr. Perfect-hair Carlos? Come! Come! Try to fit down here and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, this is going to be a bit bumpy” He was mocking me with every gesture, but he was being friendly about it. Then, he saw the camera I was still holding. “Oh! A fan of photography I see. No one had mentioned it yet. I’m an amateur myself, I could show you my collection if you show me yours” he laughed. “Windows are my strong; they hold such a deep meaning. It they are well framed, of course. Ilaria’s are wonderful, of course. A strong connection with your roots”

Later, D-68464 would describe him as a “hipster in disguise, because he wore a suit instead of indie clothes, duh”.

He also mentioned that he wasn’t aware of his nonexistent situation. He also said that he had laughed when he had seen us right in front of his house, but that he had not understood at all the reason of our fiddling with electronics. He thanked me for letting him know of his nonexistent status; he had heard it on the radio.

Obviously, that means that my call on the first day made it through, even if I didn’t reach the Voice himself.

We got back home safe and sound, if too early for my liking. Before leaving, Mr. Chen produced a visit card and turned to go away, but he saw the kid. He was glad for seeing her undamaged. She had been thrown to the ground by a fox corpse, but she had not moved otherwise.

“Mind if I take it with me? I’m trying to convince the council of the wonders of recycling. I might actually persuade them to include a system to call them back.”

Then he was off, D-68466 met us at the door and she took D-68465 (still silent), a steaming jug and two cups to the lab. They were going to listen to today’s recording, so I was not invited and had to keep watch in case the rest came back. They refused to use the isolated cabin because it is too small, that meant that I could not enter the lab without risking getting compromised.

I sat by the window and watched the grass across the street catching corpses on the fly. (Time here does not flow naturally. Therefore, I’m never sure if a span of time has been 5 minutes or 5 hours long) I spent an indeterminate amount of time watching the “rain” fall until D-68464 came back. She was pushing a trolley full of supplies.

She advanced slowly because she had to go around some piles of dead animals as she balanced a big piece of metal to avoid being crushed. She made it look easy.

I should add here that she has been the one in charge of the alimony. Her behavior since our arrival has been the most trustworthy. I’m aware she is the youngest in the team and her record, among other things, shows several theft and shoplifting charges. Furthermore, I’m probably biased since our short time of isolation together.

It was my decision to burden her with that chore, but I have been backed up by the rest of the team in the last few days.

Her evolution has been notorious during the last week (I’m including Saturday in this statement). She started off as a guinea pig, not well considered; she was the first to form a solid link with another subject (and she went down when said link was severed) then she was ignored during the riot, several times, despite her experience; then D-68465 played the role of her voice, and now, after the other Ds came back disheartened, she helped them through their disappointment.

It would be interesting to know if Night Vale is doing this to her, or if her profile, records or genetics are what makes her the perfect combination for survival in this environment. She was shy and quiet in the facility outside Night Vale, her change has been awe inspiring.

Anyway, I can see her figure is quickly becoming a vital factor in this mission and in the group dynamics, along with D-68466 and D-68465. In my opinion, she will assume the role of a pack leader. That is good because a leader means negotiations are in order.

Back to Friday, she actually came in with the trolley, loudly announcing how lucky we were because someone called Josie had baked a pie for us delusional humans as a “congratulations for not having died yet” present. When she realized I was the only one listening she sat beside me and looked outside too.

I informed her of what D-68466 and D-68465 were doing, but she was not interested in joining them. Quoting her “If they can handle a recorder on their own I won’t give them any pie; I’m more interested on why you look so miserable”

I told her I had been trapped inside for two weeks and then the only day I could go out it had to rain corpses.

She laughed at me and my slip of tongue. She said teasingly that she knew I had never listened to the voice. She says it will be obvious if I ever do. Then, we kept each other company until it suddenly stopped raining. Suddenly; not decreasingly, it just stopped. There was a deep rumbling, not dissimilar to a bass or drums in a loud concert. Only then did I realize that there had been a high whistling sound that had just stopped too.

I didn’t waste any time; I went out, even though the sun was (probably) about to set.

D-68464 was quick on my heels demanding where I was going and why. I picked up the smallest carcasses I could find (birds, rodents, small lizards) and came close to the murderous, (suspiciously devoid of cadavers), grass that I had been studying for hours; or minutes.

D-68464 was pulling me back, but she let go of me when she saw I was not going to throw myself to a certain death. I threw the carcasses one at a time and progressively higher. The grass, predictably, stretched its vines high enough to catch them. Then I tried to hand the carcasses in a very close distance while cooing softly. D-68464 was visibly fidgeting a few steps behind me and murmuring how I was a lunatic every three seconds.

However, fairly soon the grass (which I can’t call “grass” in good conscience any more) let me touch it. It was warm to the touch and softer than it looks. Unfortunately, it had been eating the whole evening, so it was also soaked in blood, and it stained my hand.

D-68464 shouted briefly when the vines wrapped around my arm and pulled. She was too far and too late to catch me, but she worried in vain. It is understandable because wherever it grabbed me it turned my lab coat, clothes and skin a blood tone of red. The vines didn’t crush me against the soil. Instead, it threw me in the air a couple of times and hung me swinging from several limbs, even (for one terrifying second) from the neck.

Once it was obvious that the thing was playing and intended no harm D-68464 laughed. That turned out to be a bad move. The vines went still as if offended or scared, which cut D-68464’s laughter immediately. I didn’t know how conscious the thing was, but I tried to placate the plant telling it that D-68464 was a friend: Basic concepts in a calm voice, which is difficult when one is hanging from one’s midsection.

Apparently it can understand more than just basic words; next thing we knew, it was poking at D-68464, tickling her and intertwining its vines with her locks. It looked like it wanted to lift her up too (D-68464 doesn’t like being manhandled, I learned that when the others tried to shove us into a room. It might be a phobia or a trauma), putting a vine around her waist; but D-68464 was very quick. She crouched and handed the thing a big hairy carcass.

The gesture seemed to please the creature instead of diverting its attention; it patted D-68464’s head and proceeded to consume the offering. It didn’t try to lift her again, but that didn’t deter it from poking her again.

D-68466 and D-68465 (still silent, but gradually relaxing after a session of listening to the voice) joined us after the sunset, but stayed on the other side of the street; they didn’t want to touch the thing that had killed two lab mates and we were grossly stained in blood. It did smel metallic, but I didn’t smell rotten anywhere.

I’m sure the vines are long enough to reach across the street and find their way to every single room in the lab. However, the vines never made a move to touch the other subjects. Not a murderous attitude at all. I know this attitude is due to the recording day, but I can’t help seeing all of it as oddly charming.

A bit later the road lights of our van pulled up the street. The thing seemed to know instinctively when the games were over. It left us alone to go greet the Ds. They shortly reported that D-68473 (bus traveler) was not 100% fine, despite his claims, and that they had reached the meeting point at different times. They had been interrogated, kept waiting and sent back in, without excuses. D-68478 had been given sedatives because he wouldn’t stop fighting, screaming and trying to run away.

D-68471 handed me the answer, he looked very miserable, all of them did. Their frustrated attempt to get away from their nightmare has damaged them, not tamed. I don’t know what the intention of the scientists that met them was, but I’m positive the subjects have not benefited from this experience and I would thank you if from now on they are not chained, interrogated, or otherwise mistreated.

They all went inside to tend to D-68473 and sleeping D-68478. I opened the answer right there because it was too light to be orders and the van was too empty to have my supplies. I stood there rereading the same lines for some time. Then I went back in, to the lab, through the garage, just to check that the recording was properly stored; I didn’t want to intrude if they were tending to D-68473 and D-68478.

Later D-68464 came to retrieve me for dinner, from which I probably got the food poisoning. I’ve taken precautions and it won’t happen again.

* * *

 

**Saturday:**

 

As I mentioned at the begining, I have not been able to stand up until midday, and then I had to write yesterday's report. So the productivity is not at its peak.  D-68465 has told me that all subjects have listened recording 2 by now. I’ve been talking to them and I have some theories about time continuity and the emission of the show. However, it is not well-rounded and doesn’t have a practical application to the Reality Bender Theory, so I will keep it as a side project until I have more information on it.

I have started to set up the materials I collected yesterday to track changes in the city. The map is on the wall, the pictures are too; linked to their location on the map, and I have designed a program to do the same with the digital material and the written descriptions.

I know there was something else I wanted to do, or something that I wanted to ask to one of the Ds. It is not a common absentmindedness; I know there is some kind of knowledge to which I have no access. I fear it could be the Voice trying to keep me away from something.

At the moment, there is nothing I can do about it, so I need to concentrate on working with what I’ve got. Friday was very informative and I’m still making sense of everything. Furthermore, I need to make sure everyone is OK. I was not the only one with food poisoning, D-68473 is not fine -despite his claims-, D-68471, D-68470 and D-68478 are feeling down, not even going out from their respective rooms.

D-68466 and D-68465 have watched over them so they didn’t do something rash (emphasis on _rash_ for D-68470 and D-68478).

D-68473 went out this morning and came back later. We don’t know where he went, he doesn’t tell.

There have been minor humdrum events, nothing else to report.

Compared to recording day, today has been uneventful.

* * *

 

Edit 23:23 : Now I can remember; I wanted to ask the Ds to find out if there was a way to access the library safely. I guess I was wrong; it was not the Voice, since I have remembered.


	2. Sunday

**Sunday:**

This morning D-68470, D-68478 and specially D-68473 have called a meeting. The rest of us joined them in the living room. They wanted to discuss an escape plan. I was surprised that they let me stay, but I knew better than to draw attention to the fact.

They have set some achievements, such as find a suitable vehicle; make a list of obstacles and potential allies and enemies, (Pamela, the mayor, tops the last list); find the way out of the desert; locate some kind of destination (D-68478 mentioned Desert Bluffs as first stop); create fake identities so the Foundation won’t find ~~them~~ us…

I have not been very useful, but they didn’t throw me out. Furthermore, it was not a mistake. I’ve seen them giving me odd looks or even avoiding looking at me since the moment they came back. There is something they are not telling me. Truth be told, there are many things they are not telling me, but this one looks important.

I can’t press them for information, so I’ll have to wait.

That’s not really a problem, since the lab is now half oriented to my science and half their base of operations for the great runaway. I can keep track of everything they say while working on the Reality Bender Hypothesis (RBH from now on).

The fact is that it is only me who thinks of the RBH and the Runaway as separate projects. The Voice heads their list of “possible allies” and they want to know as much about him as they can. They have given me descriptions of places I’ve not seen yet in order to complete the map. D-68471 has proven to be a remarkable artist. I still want to have photos of everything, but we’ll make do.

That’s when D-68464 brought food I don’t remember which kind, because she told us that the front of the house and the van were covered in red dots. All my Ds went out to look while I waited in the threshold. D-68464 waited with me, the others looked amused, even charmed, but not worried.

 “I was going to tell you to control your pet” We saw through the door that one of the vines of the grass was drawing red dots in a corner with what was probably blood. “but then I noticed that there are also stickers on the wall and pen marks, so it's not been just your pet”.

She didn't let me say I didn't have a pet; She took a sticker from the door and stuck it on my forehead. When I asked the reason for their calm acceptance of our chickenpox house she grinned and told me that it was “recording business” and so I “wouldn’t understand”. When the group came back in they told me the same; that I should chill out.

After lunch, the group wanted to study the recordings to see if they can find a way of getting the Voice on their side. Therefore, I was out of the plan again.

Without access to my lab, I went to work on one of my side projects. I had limited access to information, but I also had Mr. Chen’s visit card and he had seemed nice enough. I can’t talk to him about the RBH, he is not a reliable source, but I have no qualms about using him for other kind of information. I spent the rest of the afternoon talking to him. He was very accommodating, despite overly taunting me about how “your obsession goes both ways, that’s so rich”, which worried me, but didn’t interfere with my collection of data.

The results are in [Add 18](http://tinyurl.com/q2o8j8d). From those results I learnt that the Voice is definitely male and named Cecil. (Practically irrelevalnt, but technically worth mentioning)

The group didn’t emerge from the lab until dinner time.

D-68466 made a prediction over dinner again; something about a musical disaster. The rest promptly told her that using the community calendar was cheating (again, something related to "recording business"). However, D-68473 showed some interest, as he used to play the violin. Apparently there is a bus stop quite close to the location of some sort of music shop, and that was relevant in his decision to drop by tomorrow.

We are sure he is not fine, despite his claims, but D-68470’s check has not thrown any light in his state of health or sanity. I didn’t know D-68470 was a doctor until Friday night, when she took over and made sure the foundation agents had not ODed D-68478 with the sedatives. She is the silent and professional type.

D-68464 is spreading the rumor that she is dangerous because doctors make the worst patients, but also the worst killers. I can’t find out if what she implies is true, since I don’t have a file on what she did to end up here. But it is true that she could have been doing anything from illegal abortions, or trading organs in the black market, to killing people to make an in depth study in “still warm anatomy” as D-68465 says when he wants to follow D-68464’s game.

Nobody has tried to antagonize the woman since they started. Surprisingly, she's not the most scary thing arround here, so everything is still fine.


	3. Monday

**Monday:**

The whole group has been delayed from regular duties and instead spent the morning in the kitchen doing what passes as science in this town. That means we have spent the morning tossing toasts in the air, for science. Strange as it seems.

We have found out that a buttered toast will consistently fall on its buttered side. One exception so far: It happens with jam, oil, cheese, tomato, salt, mustard, but not chocolate (either melted, solid, powder…). D-68465 says chocolate is too good to go to waste. It is a testament to the town’s grade of incongruity that I considered it a valid theory for a full minute.

We were going to stop, but then we discovered that if thrown upwards, the buttered side always hits the ceiling _and_ sticks to it, regardless of the consistency of the substance applied to the toast. We were going to resume our work and that’s when we discovered that buttering both sides makes the toast float.

But only indoors.

Then we proceeded to study how much weight it could hold, because we are nothing if not professionals. Turns out it can hold the weight of a human adult male, but not two. D-68466 was in charge of substance spreading while D-68471 was in charge of throwing. D-68478 was in charge of the betting, so D-68465 ended up in cleaning duty and I ended up in having-to-include-the event-in-my-report duty.

Also, the grass across our house appreciates any kind of biodegradable material and toasts are perfectly edible. Everyone seemed relieved to learn that the menu of the grass was not limited to humans and carcasses. The grass is also capable of catching anything thrown from the second floor windows and has the marksmanship to throw it back if it is inedible, as, for example, a rubber ball. Its peaceful behavior seems to extend further than recording day.

Today I made lunch for my Ds. Back in the labs someone would point out how “demeaning” that is, but it worked. For the last three days the subjects who went to the meeting point have been looking at me warily; more so than before. However, their behavior also went from aggressive to inclusive. I could not get answers because they were too tense when I asked. I could not leave things like that, and now it has worked, and I’d cook a thousand times again for this kind of information.

D-68473 (who has developed the unhealthy habit of sneaking out when we are not paying attention and is not fine despite his claims) lowered his guard when he offered to help to clear the table. I turned the conversation to that night and he told me they (but not he) overheard the other scientists and agents talking about me. As D-68473 said, something in that conversation drove my Ds to feel sorry, pity and compassion towards me.

Now, what could my fellow scientists be saying about me back at home to induce such a reaction? I don’t know, because no sooner had D-68473 realized what he was talking about, that he changed topics.

Clearly, it is something the Foundation doesn’t want me to know. At first I thought it was about the person who shoved me to this investigation, but that is clearly not the case, that wouldn't make my Ds so nervous. This is something bad; worse. And my Ds already have too much information that I don’t. They don’t need another bullet to put in my head. I don’t need my authority more undermined.

Frankly, hiding me things, you are not making me _want_ to write these reports, or logbooks, or whatever.

I know that the people at the meeting point were below my level; there is no valid reason for them to have more information than me.

After that little revelation I couldn’t really work, I could not so much as think; The feeling of betrayal is very present. Again. I have not put a foot in the lab in the last hours because I don’t want to destroy my investigation in a fit of rage. Instead I joined D-68464 and D-68465, who brought over the barista we saw on Friday. They are learning to read, write, translate and use different kinds of runes with her. I was merely hearing it like a soothing drill and it made me want that calm that my Ds possess.

Anyway, it is dinner time now and I doubt there is going to happen anything of interest. D-68473 came back from his trip to the music shop(not better despite his claims). Now he owns a violin made with some kind of black wood and he plays like a virtuoso (we are almost sure he was not a _maestro_ before this evening). He says there was a disaster, but it was a small disaster, so he didn’t even bother to elaborate.

I don’t feel inclined to go on with this investigation. If things stay like this, I won't send this report; instead, I’ll take my Ds with me on the next recording day and we’ll go to that “Desert Bluffs” D-68478 mentioned. Anywhere the Foundation can’t reach.

* * *

[Edit 22:22]: D-68464 has not come back. She left late with the barista to practice arcane pronunciation, but she has not come back yet and it is already dark outside. D-68465 has called the barista. She says D-68464 dropped her at home and headed back. She should have arrived already. I should have insisted on her staying in. Had I not been so deep in my own head…, but the rest of the group has not let me go after her. They think it’s too late. They have tied me to a chair and have given me my tablet to keep me occupied. She can’t be dead. Please, she can't be dead.


	4. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Today marks the end of unbiased data. Mostly against my will; due to the circumstances that follow this notice. However, I’ll keep writing these logs because biased data is still better than no data; and no data is the current description of this town in the scientific field._

**Tuesday:**

_[Today marks the end of unbiased data._

_However, I’ll keep writing these logs because biased data is still better than no data.]_

* * *

I'll use this space to remind whoever is in charge of our allowance that, even though you didn't approve more D-class-personnel or the propper equipment that I needed, we are still due a payment that we are not getting. 

In this regard, I demand to know where does this team stand in the context of the Foundation. 

* * *

 

The whole group left the house with the first lights of the morning (which were a menacing shade of green today) to look for D-68464’s body. They left me tied saying that I wouldn’t be able to stay in otherwise. Unfortunately, and now that the panic has worn off, I must admit they were right; I would not have stayed in.

I spent about two hours sitting in silence trying to break the bonds until I heard the keys on the door. I was debating between being devastated for D-68464’s death and being relieved they found a body so soon, or at all. However, D-68464’s cheerful voice interrupted my internal debate.

“Hey guys! Did you miss me? Hey? Anyone?”

She found me and untied the knots explaining that the night creeped in unpredictably early (true, I have checked; sunset two hours early) and that she had taken refuge in the nearest house. One Steve Carlsberg had taken her in.

I asked why she didn’t call.

“This guy? He is crazy, frustratingly so. He doesn’t even own a phone! He says the secret police is listening in. Duh! Of course they are! For the love of God, its what they DO! Right? I mean, outside he would be a paranoiac probably, but here he is just plain boring, annoying AND obnoxious. He is just _so_ captain obvious. But, listen, Carlos; I never said any of this, ok? Because he let me sleep on his couch and one never says mean things about couch-lending neighbors. Oh, but he is a scientist too; you should meet him!”

I was not sure if what she said was sound; I would need to check the recordings to be sure. I thought that maybe just the transcripts would not compromise me. Now I see it was not of importance. Anyway, I let her know that the others were looking for her remains and so she left me alone again to “go and collect my wayward puppies”.

Then the house was silent and I thought about how I almost lost D-68464, and then I thought about the possibility of losing them all. The silence started to feel oppressive and suffocating, as if the mere thought made me unable to move. Later I was told that it could have been the first stages of a possession, but at the moment (and now) I thought it was just me and my personality acting up.

I realized I had been so worried about not getting compromised by listening to the records that I hadn’t realized that I was getting compromised by getting attached to the subjects. I can’t and won’t consciously put any of them in a position where they could get killed or harmed. And that sort of thinking is not conductive to this kind of experimentation in the Foundation.

Afterwards, thinking coldly about this line of thought, one can assume I was digging for scraps to justify what I was about to do. Nevertheless, my motivation doesn’t make it any less true. I am compromised and I care about my Ds. That is not of importance now, either, but at the moment I couldn't think of anything else:

Since I was already compromised, nobody would mind if I fell a tad deeper. I went to the lab in order to read the transcripts. Just a bit, a few lines, a couple of paragraphs, just to see what it was about. I already had the folder in my hands when D-68464’s voice interrupted for the second time in the morning.

“Carlos! Carlos, I've had second thoughts and you are coming with me. I’m not in the mood to play Benny Hill with a bunch of unruly lab rats.”

I dropped the files and asked politely if the night out had had some effect on her state of mind. She looked knowingly to the folder, back to me, and answered.

“Spending the night with Steve Carlsberg will do that to a girl, yes. Fortunately, I just slept in his couch, so my little theory is not influenced by him. And this is it: I think that you, lucky bastard, won’t need to do shit to be safe.”

I was going to tell her that I didn’t share her theory, but she, as my nephews, has mastered the arts of pouting and manipulation. Especially after thinking her dead. She dragged me outside waiting just long enough for me to take my cameras. It seems that she was correct, seeing as I’m still alive. I must remember that, even now, she is the most knowledged D in the group. Her approach to Night Vale has been more practical, first hand and less sterilized than my scientific method, but I think we share the same curiosity and interest for the surreal town.

P.E.T. (Acronim for Pacific Entity with Tentacles) waved as if to say goodbye from its (his?) designated spot. I finally saw the front of the house; painting it red will be easier than cleaning that many red spots. Most of them are on the eye level, but there are some worrying dots on the second floor. I decidedly don’t want to know how those got there.

I took pictures of everything everyone and everywhere I could. Not with the expected results, but I’ll have to see tomorrow, because at that moment I was just trying to take everything in; it was too much to process in that moment. Also, going out unsheduled might have pumped more adrenaline than needed in my system, making me see things. The city itself is the same as during recording day, the void above it has not ceased to be intimidating, the fractal-shaped lights are still unnerving but the people, and the noise… everything is overwhelming.

There is something unbidden, a certain quality, maybe the air? I can’t exactly explain yet. There is something different, but my senses were beleaguered. I couldn’t help but remember the words my Ds used to describe the Voice: Velvety, soothing, with a dark edge and most definitely dangerous behind the cheerful display. That's what Night Vale feels like. Nothing worth of mention was happening, but I could feel something _else_ waiting to happen. I could _feel_ it, there might be some kind of radiation enhancing latent human senses.

None of my Ds mentioned anything like this; that might be because they have been exposed to it for a longer period, or because they knew what to expect thanks to the recordings. I’ll have to ask later.

D-68464 told me after finding D-68466 and D-68465, and after the compulsory you-are-alive's hugs and shouting, that the town doesn’t behave that well in a regular day. She has her own wild guesses that involve me and the town wanting to impress me. D-68465’s theory is that I’m an eldritch scarecrow; a scaritch, he says.

After several hours and a quick lunch, our expedition lacked one last member. D-68471 had not appeared yet.  D-68478 suggested a street and we followed. D-68465 and D-68473 were eager; they went “show and tell” on me as if Night Vale was their home town and they were proud and showing off. (My (and their) impressions on the town are in adds 20 to 42)

We ended up in front of the school, where we found some kind of thematic bake sale. There were hand-painted carboard space ships and cookies in the shape of laser guns and blue aliens. There was a huge cake floating in the biggest table. I found myself wondering if they had used double buttered toasts to make it float.

D-68464 pointed to one of the side tables and leaded us there. Then she engaged in conversation with a pale man. He looked shaky and had a maniac light in his eyes. I reproduce the conversation to the best of my memory (Note: I really need to start carrying a recorder with me)

D-68464:

| 

Steve!  
  
---|---  
  
Mr. Carlsberg:

| 

Oh! Hi!  
  
D-68464:

| 

I just wanted to thank you again for helping me last night.  
  
Mr. Carlsberg:

| 

You don’t need to thank me. I couldn’t leave you to ** _them._ ** And I can’t let you go without warning you now either. Don’t eat anything here. Those [points to the alien shaped goods] are laced with sedatives, those [points to the middle table] with truth serum and those [points next to the floating cake] with hallucinogens. Not to mention, that [points to the cake] is definitely a lie; mines are the only ones not laced [he points to some dry looking scones] but they have wheat, even though I didn’t use wheat. Never use wheat! There is a company trying to use it to mind control humanity.  
  
D-68464:

| 

Ahh… sure! Thanks for the warning! Hmmm... I didn’t know you were part of the PTA.  
  
Mr. Carlsberg:

| 

Well, someone has to take care of the children.  
  
D-68464:

| 

Cool! And, eh… Steve, I wanted to introduce you to my colleagues, the labmates I mentioned yesterday.  
  
Mr. Carlsberg:

| [nods warily] Pleased to meet another puppet from yet another organization. When they dump and hunt you down like she did with me, come to talk.  
  
 

I was going to answer something, but I realized the group’s attention had shifted and they were almost as pale and trembling as Carlsberg. Some were looking at me with different degrees of wariness but all of them were listening to something else. I listened too; there was a chipper voice that could be heard over all the others, perfect dictation, male, a bit high pitched with worry.

“Did… did I do something wrong? … Hello? … I was just going to offer some cookies! … Sir? … Are you allergic to them or… if this is a customary defense mechanism, like playing dead, I want you to know that I am NOT a threat… sir?”

D-68466 muttered just high enough for the whole group to hear “Good news, we found him alive” she didn’t sound like good news at all. D-68465 and D-68464 took the initiative and moved over to the table where D-68471 and the owner of the chipper voice were having a one sided conversation. The rest of us plus Steve Carlsberg followed to see the show.

The man was unremarkable; I can’t remember most of his features and I find myself wondering if it is because he was average, because I didn’t want to look closely, because the eccentric clothes distracted me (I recall he was wearing pants made of Danaus plexippus, and I'd bet they were alive. But they couldn't be that distracting, or I'd ve distracted by every single citizen) or because he used some power to erase the memory of his face. I got the feeling of something weird in his eyes but I was focused on his voice, like the others.

I had never heard the voice, nor seen the man, but my Ds faces clued me in easily enough. It is just my luck. Of course the first time I go out when he is not recording we had to bump into The Voice; Cecil. But even more interesting were the Ds' reactions: they were thrilled, but also scared and discretely hiding me. It came as a surprise, since they openly loved The Voice when it was just a voice; after all, he is the first one in their list of possible allies. They could have ditched me and gone for his help. I strongly believe that they know he can be dangerous and they don't want him too close, or as an enemy. 

[Note: From here on I’ll be using “Cecil” instead of “The Voice”, because that title is unnecessarily ominous and plain creepy, specially now that I've seen him]

D-68464

| 

Excuse my colleague. We have had a very strange week.  
  
---|---  
  
D-68465

| 

Yeah, leave him to us.  
  
D-68471

| 

[muttering] Heishe,goodnight,hesreal [unidentifiable muttering]  
  
Cecil

| 

Oh, poor thing! I’ve seen stress at its worst before. One of our interns had a meltdown, it was a nightmare to clean. Of course, not surprising in that line of work, being an intern can be very stressful. What is your job?  
  
D-68465

| 

We are assistants in a laboratory. [Note: I was the only one wearing my labcoat, they have not tried to keep our cover since the riot]  
  
Cecil

| 

A... laboratory? [Looks at the whole group] …Oh. [He goes silent and still, the silence turns awkward]  
  
D-68464

| 

Well it is a cool job, but the radio sounds even cooler. Don’t you get nervous with the microphone and all that stuff?  
  
Cecil

| 

Not after the first time... You have heard my program?! [He grows visibly restless ~~and… blushes?(not possible? Why? Has he insulted us, or me on the radio? That would explain my Ds’ lack of respect after the first listening, maybe he already knows we are studying his true nature and that’s why he is nervous?),~~ he looks at D-68464 and only at her. If he flees or attacks after this encounter I’m blaming D-68464]  
  
D-68464

| 

Yes! It is hard not to! It is the best thing on the radio! You are a magnificent host! Not all of us, though. Carlos is too busy managing all our individual projects. [D-68464 smiles and Cecil gives her a small smile in return. I have the feeling that it is her playing him and not the other way round]  
  
Cecil

| 

That’s…  
  
D-68465

| 

…a pity, yeah, we keep telling him, but he is such a _perfect_ boss he just lets us have a break while he keeps going on with particles and x-ray and everything. [D-68465 laughs, Cecil laughs weakly and D-68464 gives D-68465 a stern look. D-68465 just shrugs minutely. I know I don't have a chance of knowing what that was about without reading the transcripts.]  
  
D-68464

| 

Don’t listen to him, he is jealous because he has not grown out of his teenager voice yet. I really like the radio, it is almost like magic, the way you reach so many people with your voice and the way you speak and module your tone is, wow, mind-blowing. I’d like to know so much more about what happens behind the mic!  
  
Cecil

| 

[looks much more confident and laughs, this time sincerely] I hope I’m not literally mind-blowing, young lady. I would have to fill _so much_ paperwork! But the doors of the studio are always open for someone as nice as you.  
  
D-68464

| 

Really? Could I see the cat too?  
  
Cecil

| 

[playfully? thinking] I don’t know… He is in the man’s toilet after all… Of course you can! And he is named Khoshek now!  
  
D-68464

| 

That’s a great name! Oh! And I wanted to ask about the weather, it is such a good idea!  
  
Cecil

| 

It is! But I won’t tell you how it came to be.  
  
D-68464

| 

Why not?!  
  
Cecil

| 

Because that way you have one more reason to pay us a visit.  
  
D-68464

| 

I can live with that.  
  
D-68466

| 

Well, we’ll rather get going. We have time sensitive experiments going on.  
  
Cecil

| Oh! Please, don’t let me interfere with science! Here, just… [Writes on a napkin and hands it to D-68464] call whenever you want to come by.  
  
 

We left after that. And it took us some time getting used to the idea of the ominous Voice being unassuming Cecil, specially D-68471, who had to process at the same time the fact that D-68464 was not as dead as we thought. I tried to speculate about the reason of Cecil's nervousness, but D-68466 simply stopped me “Before I could make a fool of myself”. D-68465 added:

“You know when you post a picture of yourself wasted at a party on Facebook and you only realize you have your family as friends when they have already left comments on the picture? Well, more or less that, but with a radio, and a whole town, and not so much wasted as something else.”

The comment wasn’t helpful, but the group deemed it enough, so I was left in the darkness. Only then did I realize I still had both cameras loosely hanging from my wrist and I could have taken a picture. The group teased me saying I was so busy looking at him that I forgot science. Then again, I was fearing for my and my Ds' life, so I can't be blamed for a little mistake. Next time I'll only fear for my life, I'll take the picture and leave them to get eatten.

The good news is that since I can’t be more compromised than now, there is no harm in listening to the recordings and catching up with them. The bad news, of course, is that I’m completely compromised.

However, I don’t feel like listening to this Cecil’s voice for 40 minutes tonight. Also, it was not how my Ds described it, I noticed he had a nice voice, but nothing like the hypnotic melodious tones they described. D-68466 says that they were talking about his “radio voice” not his "I've spent the day baking for the PTA voice".  Anyway, the voice is not the real reason I don’t want to do it tonight.

The real reason is that _all_ of my Ds want to be there when I finally listen to the recordings. This means _I_ probably don’t want them even in the same building as _me_ when I do listen to the damned things. Tomorrow night, when everyone is asleep, that's when I'll go down and play the recordings. Furthermore, as seen in add 18, bainwaves only affect live broadcasts, so I'll probably be sane after listening to just recordings and not the real broadcast.


	5. Wednesday

**Wednesday:**

We… we missed a day, I do not have an explanation, but this is Night Vale for you.

I have woken up this morning _knowing_ it is Thursday, and knowing we have skipped a day. Furthermore, I somehow _know_  this lack of Wednesday is due to a scheduling error. I have the phrase "ＳＯＲＲＹ ＦＯＲ ＡＮＹ ＩＮＣＯＮＶＥＮＩＥＮＣＥ" repeating itself in my brain in a mechanical voice, with elevator music on the back.

That doesn’t mean it makes sense at all.

Because it doesn’t.

Not even for this town.


	6. Thursday

**Thursday:**

The mystery of D-68473 has been half-discovered. Today, during breakfast, he was absent once again. D-68478 wondered aloud about his whereabouts. D-68470 answered. I have seldom heard her speak more than a couple of words since we came. By the other’s faces, I was not the only one surprised by her contribution. D-68478 engaged in conversation.

“He is on the bus”

“What?! Why?! Why do you know?”

“I followed him this morning”

“Why didn’t you tell?”

“Why didn’t you follow him?”

“Whatever. Where does he go?”

“I don’t know”

D-68470 couldn’t get on the bus, she doesn’t know why, but she described the bus as a vessel with an vacant air to it; the door opened to admit D-68473 and revealed a downwards stair; the dood closed before she could jump in and black windows reflected her eyes; and in her own eyes she saw the vast universe and a spot of the eternal truth deep in the lost mercurial vortex of meaningless truths. Something so dangerous that just the idea of reaching for it made her feel a visceral revulsion for herself, also, the bus was quite modern. She added that D-68473 is not fine despite his claims and we all felt like she had said the right thing to settle us.

I hope this is nothing; at least I hope it is not contagious. But some days I’m afraid it is too late for all of us. We are all far too deep in this mess to ever get out unscratched. D-68466 has visions, D-68473 is not fine, we don't know what is going on with D-68478 either, and it is a matter of time until something puts an end to us. Their runaway will probably be a failure. Night Vale is soaking our lives, our minds. I have the distinct certainty that I’m not only compromised, I feel like my very being is getting entangled with the city. It is terrifying, and it is not.

Re: fear, note that none of my Ds are afraid of going out anymore. They take precautions and they have a routine of some sort (I’m still not sure, but it might have something to do with cult rituals and their bloodstones; D-68465’s barista brought one for each of them. The fact that they now comply with D-68464’s “ _dos and don’ts_ ” like it is law is probably the real reason they are still alive. But I wouldn’t know, since D-68464 doesn’t want to share it with me; according to her, I don’t need it, so I won’t have it)

During lunch we heard a noise in the living-room and we run to see if an enormous emerald green sixteen-legged spider was destroying the couch again. (Event not mentioned in reports due to low rate of danger or strangeness) However, the vworp-vworp noise came from an orange tear in the continuous time-space (as seen in laboratory 45 back in the foundation) that was slowly closing with a cheery repetitive “ting”. It left behind eight bright yellow envelopes arranged on the table in a compulsively (perfectly parallel to the table border) way. The TV was on and showed a logotype: a big “S” on an equally bright yellow background.

The whole thing made us feel uncomfortable. Nothing that has come through the front door without our permission has wielded peaceful intentions yet. Furthermore, the envelopes, sealed with cheery sun stickers reeked to stale water. We avoided the living-room altogether for the rest of the afternoon.

Until 18:00 (Night Vale time) we worked simultaneously on their escape plan and my RBH. My pictures from the previous day are almost useless. I’ve seen this kind of damage on several SCP projects, but I had never seen them all in the spam of five minutes. Everything; from pictures liquefying to convenient flashes that shade someone’s face. Fortunately nothing has blinded me yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 At 18:00 D-68464 interrupted us saying that she was going to make a call. I suspected, correctly, that she was going to call Cecil so I tried to reason with her. Fortunately, or unfortunately, D-68465 remembered to turn on the recorder because he wanted “how she beats your ass” in a loop. Here is a transcript.

D-68464:

| 

[…]nd who’s going to stop me? You?  
  
---|---  
  
Me:

| 

At least I’m going to try! You can’t do this!  
  
D-68464:

| 

Why the hell not?  
  
Me:

| 

Because he is dangerous! Can’t you see?!  
  
D-68464:

| 

So what?! The rest of the town is quiet? Because, let me tell you, they didn’t get the memo.  
  
Me:

| 

We thought you were dead just YESERDAY! And now you go running to danger again.  
  
D-68464:

| 

Well, _sorry_ for surviving!  
  
Me:

| 

Surviving is not the issue! For crying out loud, how many times are you going to cheat death?  
  
D-68464:

| 

As many as needed, but you are not going to ground me for it. I am a free ex-convict who needs no rules.  
  
Me:

| 

Listen to me!  
  
D-68464:

| 

I won’t listen to you when you are being ridiculous. Cecil is a sweetheart and you are an ass! He is lucky he doesn’t know you like we do or he’d change his mind.  
  
Me:

| 

I’m just worried!  
  
D-68464:

| 

Well, don’t be.  
  
Me:

| 

You can’t tell me not to worry.  
  
D-68464:

| 

Sure, because your investigation is in danger. You, egotistical bastard!  
  
Me:

| 

My investigation can burn up for all the good it’s done! I don’t want Cecil eating your soul or something worse!  
  
 

| 

[Barely audible whispers (D-68465: Man, he is a hypocrite, remember the old spider woman? He didn’t fucking care!) D-68464 steps forward and hugs me]  
  
D-68464:

| 

You are an idiot…  
  
 

| 

[She leaves the laboratory, her voice carries from the hall]  
  
D-68464:

| 

…and you don’t know half of it, because you are a stupid pigheaded paranoid.  
  
Me:

| 

[following her out] Where are you going?  
  
D-68464:

| 

Not your business! OUT! But I won’t meet Cecil until you come to your senses if that makes you _happy_.  
  
Me:

| 

It is late.  
  
D-68464:

| 

Don’t _worry!_  
  
Me:

| 

But…  
  
D-68464:

| 

         …[in a serious voice] Carlos, you are not my real dad.  
  
 

| 

[She slams the door, snickering can be heard in the recording before it stops]  
  
We went back to work except for D-68466 who went to her room. D-68473 mentioned something about the other town where we were planning to go. I don’t keep track of my Ds’ whereabouts anymore, so it was a surprise for all of us when the smell of stale water reached us an hour later accompanied by D-68478’s voice. He had one of the envelopes in his left hand and a very big smile plastered on his face. Except, it was not exactly a smile, it was like a slash in his face. Now I know I was not the only one who thought it was strange and unnerving; D-68478 had never smiled like that in our time together.

He was reading the letter aloud. D-68465 did not record his words. Again, transcript to the best of my abilities.

D-68478:

 

| 

Guys! The logotype sounded familiar, and when you mentioned the part of our plan about hiding in Desert Bluffs I remembered why, so I have opened one of them; the one with my name. You know when I went with… I don’t remember the name, to the library? Well, in the way there we met a high school team who had come for a match. They were not weird at all and the teacher and the, I _think_ he was the match commentator, were absolutely nice to us, not creepy in any way. They are the ones who mentioned they were from Desert Bluffs.  
  
---|---  
  
D-68471:

| 

So?  
  
D-68478:

| 

So we told them we were scientists, new in town, and that we didn’t like it!  
  
D-68471:

| 

You sound way too happy about that.  
  
D-68478:

| 

Of course I do! Desert Bluffs is awesome!  
  
D-68470:

| 

You are not making any sense.  
  
D-68478:

| 

You see; their bus had the big S logotype on the side. They told us that Desert Bluffs always needed more scientists and that we would be a nice addition to the collection.  
  
D-68471:

| 

and the envelopes are…  
  
D-68478:

| 

Invitations! They will take us out of here if we accept working for Strexcorp!  
  
Me:

| 

You mean the suspicious envelopes that were delivered straight to our coffee table from an interdimensional [sic] portal? [D-68478 nods] Do you see something strange in that statement?  
  
D-68478:

| 

They have a better post office than Night Vale? It is still the perfect chance to go somewhere where they appreciate our talent!  
  
D-68471:

| 

So you know some real science?  
  
D-68478:

| 

Please! Of course, I had a pharmacy before the foundation found out about the other drugs.  
  
D-684671:

| 

So, wait, we all can science?  
  
Me:

| 

That’d be my fault. I asked for Ds with some kind of scientific background so our cover would be believable.  
  
D-68471:

| 

Cool! Then we can all accept the job! That’s perfect!  
  
Me:

| 

I won’t leave this investigation half finished.  
  
D-68471:

| 

But we can’t leave you behind!  
  
D-68478:

| 

Yes we can! And that is wonderful! Desert Bluffs will embrace us! We will have our new beginning! Desert Bluffs is a new rise! We can be fee! He can stay if he wants! He can come if he wants!  
  
Me:

| 

Sure, I’m not making anyone stay against their wishes.  
  
D-68471:

| 

That’s not what it looked like before.  
  
Me:

| 

There is a difference between seeking fortune in a new town and going straight into the wolf’s…  
  
 

| 

[Suddenly we notice that D-68473 has been unusually quiet]  
  
Me:

| 

Is there something wrong?  
  
D-68473:

| 

I’ve seen the colored branches of the lines; I’ve felt the hum of the engines; I’ve been and gone across the vast domains of the bus net; I’ve touched the fringes of reality; I’ve seen travelers come and go, but never have I seen one of them coming back from Desert Bluffs. Their net is infected; their perfect golden web of lines is poisonous. They seek subjugation, they crave it. Their engines are clean but their seats are made from the skin of a hundred careless travelers.  
  
D-68471:

| 

Buddy, you know I love you dearly, but you sound just stupid.  
  
D-68478:

| 

Exactly! Desert Bluffs is full of lovely people! Nothing to fear!  
  
D-68471:

| 

No, yes, not what I meant. What I mean is: Nobody leaves Night Vale either.  
  
D-68473:

| 

Plenty leave Night Vale; they may change, they may leave tainted, but like the lights over Arby’s there is a transition, the flow, like the flow of traffic. Desert Bluffs is like a traffic jam on a hot summer day in the middle of nowhere with your doors locked and a fetid smell because your car died a long time ago and the rust is spreading on your skin.  
  
D-68470:

| 

Listen carefully to my voice: that team, the coach and the other guy said they were from Desert Bluffs. They came, they played and they went back. They were real, they were alive. [To D-68478]Can you remember their names –to make them feel real to him– so he can calm down?  
  
D-68478:

| 

Sure, the teacher was called something like Tom and the other one was Kevin. See? [shows envelope] He signed this.  
  
D-68470:

| 

There, they were sane people that want to take us in.  
  
D-68473:

| 

no _no **no** **no**_ NO _NO **NO NO**_! You have not seen the lines, the golden lines, their golden lines, the maleficent golden lines. They never left Desert Bluffs because they were still in Desert Bluffs even here; they brought their town with them. They are poisonous and they brought their bus, their golden bus, to blind us all. They will keep coming; they are venomous, infectious, and atrocious. They’ll try to win more and everything and everyone they touch won’t be Night Vale any more.  
  
D-68478:

| 

Well, of course they’ll try to win! What is a match without a bit of friendly rivalry?! Without a little competition?! That only makes them even more fantastic.  
  
D-68471:

| 

Everybody freeze! Man, you heard us talking about hiding in Desert Bluffs before. Why didn’t you freak out like now?!  
  
D-68473:

| 

We were going to use a bus to get there, one of the busses of the Truth Seekers. You would join us and the seats would finally be complete.  
  
D-68471:

| 

YOU WERE HERDING US TO THAT BLACK HOLE OF YOURS?  
  
D-68473:

| 

TO KEEP YOU SAFE AND IN THE PATH OF TRUTH!! THE ROAD TO DESERT BLUFFS IS PAVED WITH CRUSHED WILLS AND BUILT IN FEAR!!  
  
D-68478:

| 

But it is only mighty wills and unwavering fear!! It is a very fine smooth road!!  
  
There was silence. If one of us had thought that D-68478 was in good health, that’s the moment the thought vanished. D-68470 checked him: pupils blown, high pressure; I took samples of his blood that we will analyze later. After that, we went back to the living quarters of the building to inform D-68466 and D-68464 (when she came back, note, quite melancholic) of the new developments.

We have planned a debate for tomorrow morning on whether Desert Bluffs is still a viable option (and D-68473 is just not ok) or if it is out of the question (and D-68478 is the one who is just not ok). Meanwhile, we experienced a mental concert: a disconcerting mix of classical music and pop hits. Also, a local singer called Voltaire, not related to the French thinker, who played songs that didn’t fit in either category. My Ds, healthy and unstable, said that it fit the weather perfectly.

We managed to put D-68473 and D-68478 to bed, without bloodshed. Seven envelopes remained untouched on the table. Nobody is going to sleep deeply tonight, so I'll have to be careful when I go to for the recordings later. I've been writing this log waiting until everything was silent. ~~There will probably be an addendum with tonight's observations by tomorrow morning.~~  

[Edit 23:45]: The recordings are gone, so are the transcripts and the backup copies. I wonder if this is ~~the Voice’s~~ Cecil’s doing. Our meeting yesterday might have leaded him to feel threatened and act against the project. As if we needed more problems.

But if it is not him, (and it is a valid posibility) I dread imagining what else it could be. Maybe someone is sabotaging the investigation. I don’t think it was my Ds, but D-68471 wants to leave and he won’t let me stay behind. He may have thought that with the transcripts gone I’d close my investigation and leave with them.

But there could be something even worse lurking in our own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: Just a warning for the next chapter: Strexcorp will never entail happy thoughts.))


	7. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strexcorp is never good news, as Carlos and the Ds are about to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a new encrypted file that will never have a paper copy in: C:/users/carlos/documents/accounting/TS/DesBlu07.08.12 I’ll be the only one that can access it. It will be labeled #couldbeworsethankeeter for the foundation software for easy search in case this file ever reaches the outside world. I’ve used every method of encryption known to me. I hope, for he shake of our collective sanity, I won’t ever need to add anything to that file. 
> 
> The Runaway Project is catalogued now in Add 55 as it is no longer a running project.

**Friday:**

The morning decided for us, there was no debate needed. When D-68478 came through the kitchen door we all saw that something had to be done. In that moment every other project was put on standby until the situation was solved. D-68478 had such a broad smile that his lips had open wounds; in some points the blood of the splits had dried creating black scabs on his lips; others were still bleeding and painting his teeth and chin in crimson red. He praised Desert Bluffs nonstop.

We all knew D-68473 was not exactly fine despite his protests, but at least he retained most of his faculties most of the time, whereas D-68478 seemed to have lost control of his facial muscles and his mind altogether. D-68470 was very helpful, she assisted me in administering gallamine to the subject (1-1.5 mg/kg i.v. initially, then 0.5-1 mg/kg as required at about 40-minute intervals) so he would stop further injuring his lips.

I started testing the envelopes and D-68470 tested the blood sample; both of us following the standard sensory containment procedures from the Foundation once I informed her of them. D-68478 still tried to convince us of the wonders of Desert Bluffs and Strexcorp during the whole process. He had an awful lot of information about the town and the company. I still don’t know if he was making it up to get us onboard or if he got the information by other means. I don’t discard dream walking, for instance.

D-68464 and D-68465 left the lab to ask around and find out if there was something useful for us, a solution, a cure; either a serum or a rite. They went on separate ways. D-68465 wanted to go to the hospital; D-68464, to the secret police. From there they would ask to all of their contacts.

I remind the Foundation that there is only so much we can do with high school equipment and kitchen supplies. In addition, D-68470 could not test D-68478 with cardiopulmonary exercise without risking a heart attack (see gallamine ADR of gallamine). D-68473 felt guilty. After covering the TV (It didn’t shut down when unplugged, like so many SCPs) with a towel that he seems to carry everywhere since last Friday, he apologized several times for planning our bus escape without our consent. D-68466 tried to calm everyone down and she gave D-68473 some chocolate to distract him, I think she has a problem with comfort foods and drinks, but that is not relevant, and we were actually thankful when she brought iced tea to the lab.

We were making very little progress. We only knew that there was some kind of unidentified metallic substance, alkali based, in his blood. It may or may not be a virus transmited by touch. The compound was almost, but not completely, identical in D-68478 and the envelopes, that probably meant that the substance suffered a change in contact with a human body, but we didn’t get a second chance to learn what it was or to try to produce an antidote serum: the work on our hands spontaneously combusted.

Not all of it burned, and the fire quickly died down without hurting us. However, there were no samples left to test, just D-68478’s blood still in his veins. Right then the phone rang, now I realize it was too well timed. It was D-68464 asking after D-68478’s well fare. I told her that our equipment was not enough and that the eight envelopes had caught fire. She seemed reluctant to tell me something, but I didn’t ask because through the kitchen door I had seen that the towel had fallen from the TV and there were several _machines_ (and I am using that term loosely) lined up in front of it. The TV was repeating “Strexcorp has all you’ll ever need; Strexcorp will put its employees at your disposal; Strexcorp wants to see you working happily; Strexcorp wants to see you working; Strexcorp wants you.” 

 

> “That’s it. Enough. Tell me where you are, we are not staying in this house waiting until Strexcorp corners us, we’ll pick you up and look for help.”
> 
> “Carlos! Listen! The catching fire thing is my fault! I told someone that Strexcorp wanted to hire you and it was not appreciated.”
> 
> “That is the least of my problems right now! Do you remember the list of needed machines I sent to my bosses?”
> 
> “The one I should not have read and they ignored? Yes. I thought you didn't know I...”
> 
> “Well, I _think_ I have right in front of me just about everything I asked for in that list as well as things I didn’t realize I needed; everything with the yellow stamp on the side. But it is horrible, they are not machines… they are… they are abominations; you’d have to see it. They are trying to get in with gruesome presents; I swear it is like a Trojan horse. But it also feels like a death threat. Tell me once and for all where you are, we are NOT staying in.”
> 
> “Carlos, wait, I have something. They told me you have to convince him that Desert Bluffs is not a good option. They can’t take him if he does not want to go; they are not that powerful yet.”
> 
> “We will try on our way there, but I need you _to tell me where you are_.”
> 
> “…In front of the radio station.”
> 
> “…”
> 
> “Carlos?”
> 
> “Of course, I should have known.”
> 
> “Carlos?”
> 
> “Not my problem right now. We’ll pick you up as soon as we can.”

I took D-68478, D-68473, D-68471, D-68466 and D-68470 out. None but D-68478 wanted to stay after they saw the machines. There is something about them. I can’t empirically be sure, but I know it is true like I knew last Wednesday was Thursday. I’ll refrain from describing them and the intuition here because it sounds too disturbing to write. For now, just know that nobody wants to get close to those things.

D-68473 sat as my copilot, because he knows the roads, or at least he knows the bus lines. D-68470 sat at the back with D-68478 and tried to get him to say something small like “I don’t like Desert Bluffs” or “Desert Bluffs is not perfect”. I had to concentrate on the road because it doesn´t work the usual way, but I couldn’t help listening to their fruitless efforts.

It could have been less disheartening if D-68478 had stuck to praising the hellish town. But after the muscle relaxant worked, whatever was holding him mindless weakened. D-68478 stuttered trying to repeat D-68470’s sentences but he couldn’t finish, not even once.

When we arrived to the radio station D-68464 was waiting for us and D-68465 had joined her. Together they redoubled the efforts to change D-68478’s mind. D-68473 leaded me to a parking lot where we would be as safe as it gets in Night Vale, according to D-68473.

When I looked back I saw that D-68478 had a spasmodic smile. He was crying. D-68470 held his head between her hands. They had even tried with nonverbal answers. That didn’t go well; he had broken his own finger before signaling “no” with it. They looked like they were running out of options; they had tried reasoning, negociating, lying, spelling, talking backwards... without positive results. What's worse, D-68470 informed me that we were out of gallamine and the last dose would stop working in 20 minutes. We didn’t know what would happen after that, but it couldn’t be good. The group was becoming desperate.

> “We are not going to go there, please, stop this.”
> 
> “We will only go if you say it is a horrible place.”
> 
> “Repeat with me: Desert Bluffs is a bit not good.”
> 
> “C’mon! You are a wreck! You obviously don’t want to go, this should count for something!”
> 
> “Just stop this! He did nothing to deserve this”

Those are just some of the phrases that come to my mind when I remember those agonizing minutes. I can’t remember who uttered what. I don’t know if I said any of them. I just remember the stench of desperation, the progressively high shouts and D-68478’s face as muscles contorted back to a solid smile. Towards the end he hugged himself for some minutes, then he looked up like he had realized something.

> “ _Strexcorp_ " he pointed to us "has been more than I expected, more than I deserved. _Desert Bluffs_ has been like family. _Strexcorp_ has been very tenacious all this time and I thank them. I’d apologize for not saying this before, for not realizing how much _Desert Bluffs_ meant for all of us, but I didn’t know until I lost...”

D-68464 stopped him.

> “You are not saying goodbye, you bastard; you are going to fight! We are going to help!” D-68464 had to swallow the knot in her throat “and we are going to w˞  ̴in” her voice broke.

D-68478 blinked twice, smile never leaving his face, pupils wider by the second, like he didn’t understand. “Win? There is nothing to win! Desert Bluffs will always win in the long run… Always.”

Someone might have said or cried something else, but I was distracted by the bright orange light just outside the parking lot. It could have been a normal sunset for once, but it was the portal we had seen in our living-room. There was a silhouette of a woman approaching us. Once she was close we saw her: She wore designer clothes but they were in tatters and drenched in something brownish, I have no dubt it was dry blood and viler things. However, she strode to us with the confidence of a predator. She was also wearing a familiar face. I was not the only one to see and recognize her.

> “She is just like…” started D-68466
> 
> “Hi!” We realized at the same time that she had the same grimace as D-68478 on her face “My name is Vanessa! My boss sent me to pick someone up.” D-68466 put herself between the woman and D-68478, who recoiled.

> “Go back the way you came, you wench, there is nothing for you he… uf!”D-68466 brazed herself where she had been punched.

> “So nice to meet you too! But I’m looking for someone else! Although, you can come if you want!”

We were all sitting or standing at the back of the van; I made a move for the driver’s seat in order to start it so we could run away, but she was quicker and stronger. She held me by the neck against the van; after a moment she had the keys and she threw them out of reach. I couldn't breathe, she was about to cruch my windpipe.

> “Please, don’t leave yet! I barely know any of you! And you are so nice!”

D-68465 and D-68464 tried to overpower her together. Her nails left a trail of blood in my neck, but I could breath again. D-68471 ran to get the keys back and D-68466 joined the fight. D-68473 tried to shout for help. I put D-68478’s right arm over my shoulder and tried to get away, although he was not cooperating all the time. In fact, I had to drag him half the way and hold him down the other half.

We didn’t make it out of the parking lot, though. Something was thrown, I was hit and we fell down. When I looked up, the woman was offering D-68478 a hand to stand up. D-68478 had his hand extended, but he didn’t reach for her, there was just a silver of doubt. I was close enough to kick her legs so I did. She fell and I heard the van starting up. I thought that if whoever was driving managed to run over her we would be safe.

The woman ignored us, stood up and offered her hand again. D-68473 jumped her from behind but she moved smoothly and a second later she had her hands on D-68473 like she was going to break his neck. Time seemed to slow down. I heard brakes and I realized that the driver wouldn’t dare to run over the woman if it meant running over D-68473 too.

> “I am the one who applied for the job in Desert Bluffs”

That was when time, probably, actually stopped. D-68478 stood up and walked towards her, this time without shadows of doubt in his stride.

> “Really?!” chimed the woman.
> 
> “Indeed! Me! Not that man. He could come, but he didn’t ask for the job!” The woman released D-68473 and he scrambled out of her reach.
> 
> “Oh! What a pity! He seems great!”
> 
> “What are you doing?! Stop!!” The driver was D-68471, after all.
> 
> “Don’t!” So D-68464 was close too.

But the woman was already dragging D-68478 by the arm to the open portal. We tried to follow, we tried to stop them. But we didn’t know what else to do. D-68478 went willingly with her until about six meters to the portal, where he planted his feet. At that point there was nothing he could do but look behind while the woman pulled his arm.

> “I want to go!” He shouted.

He still had the maniac smile, but there was nothing even remotely happy in his eyes. That was not what he meant, those were not his words. It was not fair. His last words should be his. But his eyes were enough of a goodbye and they hurt worse than words. And if it is the last time someone writes down Daniel's words, it should be his name with them, official denomination be damned. He was scared, he was _so_ scared.

> “We know” Said D-68466 from my far right.
> 
> “We’ll get you back” Said D-68465 with clenched teeth from even further.

We could hear bells noise again and the portal closed. There was no more eerie orange light; there were no more shouts, no more anything. Only the hum of the van, the stars, and the cold of the desert night. Nobody moved.

The rest of the night is mostly a blur. I remember an old woman who came to us with blankets and hurried us in to a house of some sort. She asked why we were out there, D-68470 answered something, the woman told us that today was not a good night; that the angels wouldn’t be back until the next day. D-68473 suddenly started to cry. D-68466 tried to calm him down, even though she didn't have chocolate at hand this time. He didn’t calm down, but he explained between sobs that he had counted on the angels to keep us all safe. I couldn’t stop blaming myself for even entertaining the idea of working for them. I thought that at least they offered real income and equipment, however grotesque. I don’t know how that repulsive idea even touched my mind.

Later I found myself sat on a large coach, lights off; D-68471 to my right, more passed out than asleep; to my left D-68465 and D-68464 were hugging as if that would save them. If D-68464 is becoming a pack leader, D-68465 will be the beta dog and D-68464’s older brother. I realized that D-68464 was not asleep; she was looking straight through me.

> “Cecil told you what we had to do.” I didn’t have the energy to make it a question. D-68464 seemed startled by my voice, but then she nodded.

> “Before you get furious, I couldn’t think of anyone else, I had already asked the others, nobody gave me any suggestions and…” she didn’t have the energy to argue either.
> 
> “It is fine”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Was he trying to help?” She nodded again. “Then it is fine. Who cares? Talk to him if you want, meet with him, we don’t know what mental poison is going to corrupt us tomorrow by mail.”
> 
> “You mean ‘life is to short'?”
> 
> “I mean ‘life is too short’, yes”
> 
> “Thank you”
> 
> “Just don’t elope with him, we need you in the lab.” She laughed weakly, but it sounded like a deflated puff of air.
> 
> “You need to listen to those recordings” Then I remembered the material was gone and I felt like sharing.
> 
> “I don’t think that will be possible anymore, someone stole them.” She puffed air a little stronger.
> 
> “Carlos! _**I**_ stole the recordings because you were being an imbecile and because you didn’t let me see Cecil and because you were so obviously going to listen to them alone and Daniel wanted to see your face at the bit about the hair and now it is all so petty.” She was about to break down. She remained silent, though; looking away and very pointedly not crying.

> “I’m going to kill that bitch if she dares to come back to Night Vale”

We stayed up the whole night. I’ve been replaying the last 48 hours trying to see how things could have been different. If I had opened one of the letters, if I had gotten rid of the letters, if we had stayed home, if I had let D-68464 go for help before, if D-68471 had run over Vanessa, if I had had the right equipment, if I had never asked for Ds with a scientific background… I know I was not the only one stuck in that track of thought, but the company in this case was not comforting.

This is worse than everything we have seen so far. Other Ds have died before, but we knew Daniel. He was stubborn, and he was far too focused on leaving, and had plans to grow something deep in the grass, but he was a fighter, he cared about D-68473’s disappearances, and he was too fond of the inappropriate jokes that D-68465 shares regularly.

I know theoretically he is still alive, report-wise we never really saw him die, and D-68464 yelled that we would get him back many times. But I don’t think anyone holds any hope of seeing him whole again. We fear what will be left of him, now more than ever.

Because now we have seen Vanessa.


	8. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: Fair warning: Gore))

**Saturday:**

We saw the sunrise from the couch and it was almost normal, if green again, until gravity decided to wake everybody up at 05:45 AM (Night Vale Time) by turning everything upside-down (-1 G aprox.). The four of us hit the ceiling, hard. As distractions go, it was a good one, but we were not in the mood to play or experiment, so we stood up and just took our shoes off to keep the ceiling as white as it was.

D-68466, D-68470 and D-68473 had been in the second floor with the woman from last night (Old Woman Josie Out By The Car Lot: I’ve been asked to keep the name like that), so we had to find a ladder to help them climb to our floor. We made disinterested small talk with Josie and she didn’t press us for information; She was very accepting. Either she saw everything from a window last night or D-68470 told her and I don’t remember.

We ended up discussing in the living-room because we could not leave, unless we wanted to jump to the void in the sky. We talked about D-68478, but also about our fortune. Some didn’t want to go back to the house, as the machines could still be there; others said that they wouldn’t bend for Strexcorp and that nobody was throwing them away from their home. Anyway, we wanted to get our things back and to feel a little less defeated, but long-term we didn’t want to stay.

Of course, any plans to hide in that town are off the window. D-68465 told us that he wants to move in with his barista (well, I’ve been calling her “the barista”, but her name is Vithia). That saddened D-68471 for a second, because he still wants to get everyone out safe and sound; he made it sound like that "everyone" included Josie, Cecil, Carlsberg, and even PET. D-68464 and I think that he wants to take Night Vale out of Night Vale, and that way madness lies.

However, those were the only clear ideas; the group was too confused to think clearly. I saw the same people defend opposite ideas in the time spam of 20 seconds. The only reason it didn’t escalate was because we were feeling too drained, we knew it would be easy making someone snap and we didn’t want to deal with the consequences. By the time the door opened we didn’t even know where we wanted to go next.

With the sound of the door, gravity came back: it felt as if the teacher had come back to a bad behaved class. When we got up (and for some reason Old Woman Josie looked like she had never fallen from the ceiling) two tall figures had already come in. Since our conversation was going nowhere, Old Woman Josie interrupted our discussion to introduce us to Erika and Erika; two angels (Descriptions on add.77). They joined the dialogue and made us feel like intruders in a subtle way. Not entirely welcome.

We ended up thanking Old Woman Josie and going out. Just out. We retrieved our van hastily and started driving with no destination in mind. In our way to nowhere, somehow, we began a discussion on the very nature of the town. It has been _narrowed down_ (I’m skeptical on those words) to several possibilities:

Night Vale is: (valid points leading to possible study branches are shown in **bold** )

  *  **A normal location _with_ abnormal inhabitants.**
  * **A Supernatural location that _creates_ abnormalities.**
  * **A supernatural location that functions as _a beacon_ for abnormal creatures.**
  * **A normal location that _became_ supernatural thanks to its inhabitants.**
  * An after-death for restless souls. (That’d mean we are all dead, yes, like the film)
  * A place out of real time and space.
  * A link to a different dimension.
  * The nightmare of a God. (Maybe applicable to the RBH?)
  * A forbidden experimental field: We are breathing hallucinogenic gas and, therefore, making everything up.
  * Weird.
  * A nuclear testing facility; monsters are real, but also scientifically explainable.
  * An extraterrestrial experiment gone wrong.
  * A punishment.
  * A cross of “the zen paranormal lines of the Chinese feng shui and that dragon stuff” (by D-68465)
  * A home for the strange things that the world doesn’t want. (A SCP refugee camp)
  * The wet dream of a paranormal investigator.
  * A complex hoax, a staged thing, a radio show, a comedy, a book, a videogame, a film…
  * The exception needed for physic and logic laws.
  * Some days better than the outside world.
  * Most days more exciting than the outside world.
  * Definitely more awe inspiring than the outside world.
  * Lethal too.
  * Maybe not as annoying as the outside world.
  * A good place to live if you know how to survive.



[We don’t want to think what Desert Bluffs is. This was intended as just an exercise on escapism from last night’s memories; it was not to be taken seriously. Personally, I don’t think there is just one valid answer any more. And the RBH could be only one factor.]

As you can see, I’ve written down the “silly” explanations too. They are not as irrelevant as one might think. Our collective train of thought went from frenzied, stressed and focused on looking for explanations to a more distended mindset that allowed jokes and unscientific explanations; complaints. However, after a few minutes of negative proposals the tables turned and we started pointing out things that were better than our experiences outside.

I will not write here the bitter stories that we shared about childhood and adulthood on the outside; but our conclusion was that Night Vale could be something good, all things considered. We can also conclude that we are all a bit damaged, a bit sour, and a bit annoyed at outside life in general. 

I’m not sure, but this progressive acceptance and fondness for the town could be linked to the low stress rate after listening to the recordings. Maybe the relaxing quality comes from discussing the town and not from Cecil (?). I’ll have to confirm this as soon as D-68464 gives back the recordings, which she still holds from me until she gets a ransom. Some days she is too cunning for her own good.

Back to the van, the team had begun to feel safe again, so we headed home to deal with whatever was invading our living space.

The _machines_ were still there. D-68466 stayed with me in the living room; the others didn’t want to stay in the same room, so they checked the rest of the house for any disturbance. D-68466 only stayed because I asked her to. She wanted to leave, but I knew she was an engineer and I would need her help to dismantle the _machines_ and the TV. D-68465 would have been useful too, for his biology studies, but he was sick as soon as he saw the _machines_ and couldn’t be convinced to come back in.

I don’t blame him. It is something that hits you as you lay your eyes on the _machines,_ a well constructed idea; as if the idea was downloaded right to one’s cortex. (And that could be more than a way of talking). The _machines_ are not _machines_ at all. They are a product of Strexcorp bioengineering “advances”. They are **_not machines:_**  they are Strexcorp employees.

Literally

The abominations soiling our floor were alive, or at least as alive as the poor fiends could be. Any kind of cursed half-life, any pain, would have been better than what laid before us. Later, when D-68470 came in briefly to check on us, she confirmed that everything was human in origin. There were living organs under the metal casings, kidneys where filters should be; there were touch pads made of skin and flesh: One could still see moles and body hair. Muscles were held in tubes to use the kinetic energy. We found eyes of different colors where optic devices should be. There were nervous systems instead of wiring and pieces of grey matter as processors. Some of them had almost a whole brain.

For anyone unaware, that means that the _machines_ **could actually feel the pain** inflected in the process of the shut down. And they reacted in small ways: contorting themselves, twitching, crying, collapsing… D-68466 and I suffered this process for the first two machines until D-68466 realized we could “unplug” them by cutting the nervous system from the grey matter.

It was just slightly easier that way, but feeling how they grew colder as we took them apart was not something I’d wish on my worst enemy, either. And we needed to do it piece by piece because among the viscera were some delicate and useful non-organic components that we need if we want to keep existing in this town. At the very least, we will be able to sell them to the community college.

If the Foundation had paid us, we wouldn’t have needed to do this grotesque task. If the Foundation had sent the equipment we wouldn’t have been given corporative presents in the form of biomechanical torture victims. If one of us was tempted to work for Strexcorp, it is the Foundation's fault. You are the ones who threw us here and never contacted again. And you can be sure I’ll end up discovering _why_.

But the worst part of that “mental download” is that we knew the names and history of the _machines._ We knew that they were Strexcorp employees who had dared to want to leave, who had developed a resistance to their drugs, or who had shortened their useful life in the company (meaning they had had a minor accident like a broken leg or that they had had an illness like the flu or cancer) and so the company had taken what was rightfully theirs by legal binding contract, putting them to better use until the end of their contract (which was not specified but for a clause where it said “when they earn their death”).

(If someone wonders why I keep calling them machines, it is because I can’t bring myself to write what they actually are, _humans, victims, mutilated beings, abominations, a repulsive façade of science_ , without feeling nausea and a deep rooted abhorrence.)

After the pillage, we had to dispose of the… I’m reluctant to call them either waste or corpses. I’ll have to settle for remains. We had to dispose of the remains and D-68466 left for the kitchen to get something that didn’t remind her of our task and then for the shower. D-68464 took her leave as her cue to come in and mention that we should light up a pyre to burn the remains. According to her, that is a common funerary practice here; something to do with the purifying power of fire.

Someone mentioned feeding them to PET, but I wouldn’t feed that filth to PET if my life depended on it, and it was final. I was backed up by several other members of the team who have been spending time with PET. There were no other proposals after that, so, eventually, we went with D-68464’s idea.

I should ask her if she meant that we had to pay our respects in a commonplace way or if we should get rid of the bodies in a conveniently discreet fashion, but I’m afraid of her answer. When we took the remains out, D-68465 was still recovering and didn’t appreciate our arrival. He stayed just long enough to remind D-68464 that Vithia had taught them some funerary runes that would save us a lot of trouble with the Secret Police, whatever that is. Then he left to throw up somewhere else.

D-68464 drew the runes and the circle while I heaped the remains and went for gas and gasmasks. We didn’t know if the fumes would be toxic or something worse, but I didn't want to risk it. Regarding the state of the remains, we know that the former employees were heavily medicated, but we are not going to keep anything for testing.

Once the pyre was ablaze, we watched it burn and I let D-68464 go back in for a shower before D-68466 could use all the warm water. I could not take my eyes from the fire. I saw things moving in the flames and I have no idea if it was a play of the lights and my mind or something more. There was a legit chance that something would escape and kill us in our sleep.

I was patiently waiting for the flames to die. And I couldn’t help thinking that Daniel would probably suffer something similar. I tried to keep my mind blank, but it became increasingly difficult the longer I spent alone outside. When the embers were almost out D-68473 came to fetch me: They were going to have lunch, but I was not hungry.

I spent the following hours disinfecting the pieces we had salvaged; better not showering yet if I was going to get contaminated again so soon. While I catalogued functions of the pieces and new materials, I mentally designed some gadgets that will be useful in a Night Vale-specific way. That kept my mind occupied for a while.

Then I decided that the ashes could not stay where they were so I took an airtight container, a shovel, and proceeded to seal the last physical evidence of our nightmare with D-68473’s help, who came silently and swept ashes without a word. I saw small metallic components that we had probably overlooked, I suspect grey matter had some kind of plastic membranes chip-like designed to overcome any logical process. I pocketed the pseudo-chips to analyze them some day if I can stomach it.

Later, we drove to the wastelands and buried the container, not in silence, but not happily either. To make things worse, I was playing with the burnt chips in my pocket when I remembered the 1-month protocol for Ds, and everything it entails, urgency included. Even later, D-68473 told me that “enough is enough” and that I could not go around drenched in organic fluids; he said it in a much less polite way. Then I was shoved in the bathroom and told to hurry because they wouldn’t let me skip dinner too.

There was not much hot water left, but it was not a big problem, since I needed cold water to get rid of the blood anyway. In the end I still felt dirty, however, I didn’t have time to ponder on it. When I was drying my hair with a towel I noticed I was not alone in the bathroom. From the corner of my eye, in the reflection of the fogged mirror, I saw someone moving. Someone who didn’t have a face (?) but, of course, when I turned, there was nobody. I didn't have time to cover myself, nor ask for help or look for a suitable weapon when I heard the voice of a woman.

“Oh! don’t worry about me, I’m just settling in, since you are now, you know, part of the community. By the way, I’ve reordered your lab coats by the date you bought them, no need to thank me.”

Then I realized that there was a clean lab coat (and only a lab coat) on the sink, I was alone again and I couldn’t really point out why the mirror was fogged, considering that I had used cold water. In that moment someone shouted that food would go to waste if I didn’t go downstairs immediately, so I didn’t have any time to study our new ghost problem.

D-68465 had left for the night to pay Vithia a visit, but the rest of the group was sitting around the living room table, sitting on cushions on the floor, since the chairs have refused to leave the kitchen since the very first day. I noticed that someone had cleaned thoroughly and that the dinner arrangement was probably some subconscious way of reconquering our territory or to celebrate our victory. The dishes lacked any kind of meat for ovbious reasons and the color red was mostly absent.

We spent the whole time talking about Night Vale and ever more ridiculous theories, we also discussed Cecil and his relation to the town; some think they are unrelated, some say that he created the town, some say the town created him, some say he is the beacon that attracts all things wondrous to town and some think that he is one with the town. Nobody provided conclusive proofs, but the rough ideas will be in add.78 and new ideas can be added in the comments section of this log.

There was a minor accident: D-68466 had a new prophecy. She saw the laboratory empty but for me. It worried us, but she says that she didn’t feel grief, only sadness. D-68471 has assumed that it means they will manage to escape. I saw that the girls were not so sure and D-68473 was openly dismissive of the idea. D-68473 seemed to know more than he was letting on.

I’m sure that, after the _machines_ , the only reason I’ll be able to sleep tonight is our conversation over dinner. It kind of unclogged my mind.

Tonight I turn off my tablet with several ideas plaguing my head: One, I’ll get the damn recordings no matter what I have to bribe D-68464 with; two, I’ll find a way into the library (There have to be records; the history of the town, the radio founder; and there has to be a way in); three, the chips I remembered need to go and _why did I forget about them?_ ; four, there is something with the angels that I can’t pinpoint yet, an elusive thought.

Well, and the ghost woman problem, but, truth be told, that doesn’t worry me.


	9. [Redacted]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [For your eyes only]

**Petition for chip implant removal**

* * *

~~The six (6) D-class-personnel assigned to this mission have acquired valuable skills and knowledge during the time span of nearly one (1) month. Therefore, their useful life is not over and I will keep needing them for a longer period than intended.~~

~~I’m aware the month period is supposed to be short in order to avoid attachments, but that failsafe can’t be applied in this particular case, as social interaction and cohabitation are unavoidable. Furthermore, my D-class-personnel are no longer a rioting group and there is no need for the underskin chips, they are a willing group of individuals whose collaborations have been invaluable. Terminating them would not report any benefits, but would cause harm and make the neighborhood suspicious to the extent of thinking me their murderer.~~

~~Even though I should not know about the chips, I do know. I learnt about the procedure for long distance D-control during my time in forensics. I guess I was supposed to see my Ds drop dead and wonder why. And nobody would come to bail me out if I woke up to a house full of that “secret police” and the corpses of my Ds. This makes me question again if there was a plan to take us out of here at all, or if I was sent to die. With each new day without news from the Foundation my opinion leans more and more towards the latter.~~

~~I **won’t** let the capsules break on the 15 th, now that I think about it; this petition won’t even reach you until the 15th, unacceptable. I won’t beg to keep them alive. They will live and that is that.~~

I was going to ask for permission, but I’d rather ask for forgiveness, (if at this point I cared for either)

* * *

~~Saturday morning: Minor surgery~~

* * *

[Personal report: **unlicensed surgery** and **identity revelation** ]

* * *

My Ds were not happy when they learnt about the chips. In fact, I’m lucky of being alive. Telling them that I wanted to remove the implants seemed to work wonders on their temper. Telling them that not all Ds had the chip and that I didn’t know for sure if they had it seemed to calm them further. However, admitting that I hadn’t remembered this procedure until last afternoon, when I saw the chips in the _machines_ , was considered distasteful and gross.

Then I had to build a detector, and -for the first time- all of them were thankful I had kept the pieces from the day before. (They also were thankful -not for the first time- for not having killed me during the riot) I understand why the Foundation told me that they’d not waste resources on a high-risk mission, but now that I’ve proved I can handle the situation I’m pondering why all my efforts to contact the HQ are met with cold silence. Fortunately, I’m resourceful enough to build a Foundation hardware detector from scraps, not thanks to them.

D-68466 tried to help, but despite her engineering skills, she has no experience with paranormal investigations or with the Foundation in particular. The detector wouldn’t be as easy to build as a metal detector; the chips have traces of metal, but not enough to be picked up with something homemade. I needed a complex mechanism, something closer to portable x-rays. Therefore, I built the detector on my own and then D-68470 offered her expertise on surgery.

D-68465 also offered his scalpel but the others didn’t trust his hand. Not after knowing of his necropsies and his experience solely related to animals. If he hadn’t mentioned that, they wouldn’t have cared or noticed. Instead, he was the nurse for the morning shift.

Surprisingly, they were ok with trusting me with a pointy instrument and the limb where the nanochip and the capsule had been implanted. Even after they asked the question I was planning on avoiding for as long as possible:

“Wait, Dan had one of those implanted too?”

I couldn’t exactly lie, but I didn’t need to answer either. The realization hit me yesterday night when I was planning how to tell them about the chips. My reaction was more or less the same as theirs: Anger and sadness because we don’t have a way to extract his chip, but also a spark of relief because he won’t suffer what the dark corners of our imaginations had pulled to fuel our nightares. We kept a tacit silence.

We started the procedure and everything went according to plan; according to plan that is, until D-68470’s turn. She didn’t want to get un-implanted. At first we thought it was because she didn’t trust a blade on anyone else’s hands; we tried to convince her. At least we wanted to use the detector on her and if the chip was easily accessible maybe she could self-extract the chip.

After a long time she relented. We didn’t find a chip in her. She _didn’t have_ a chip in her. And she knew; why would she be so adverse to a simple explortion otherwise? So we questioned her. She didn’t want to answer, but D-68473 guilt tripped her into confessing:

She doesn’t have a chip because **she never was a D** -class-personnel. Her real name is Rachel Thurgood. She forged her file and joined our group. Apparently, Night Vale is heavily guarded and it is difficult coming in without being noticed.

Of course, our next predictable question was “why did you want to come?”. The surprising part was her answer:

“Well, I thought it was time to go back to my hometown.”

“Your… **home** town.”

That probably explains some of her silences and calm reactions.

We wanted explanations and she was quite forthcoming; her family has a long history of _magic_ healers and she learnt the ways of healing stones and curative powders at a young age. However, too many a time she saw people die because a shaman had been chanting and no one had applied pressure to a bleeding wound.

She wanted to learn the ways of unorthodox healing (unorthodox for Night Vale, that is) and for that she had to leave. She has told us that her mother held (maybe she still does, she has not checked) an important position in the sanitary field in town; she encouraged her child to leave, even though she was sure that there was nothing better out there.

She had stayed in the group because she was amused with the opinions of outsiders and she liked the company of people of mostly-euclidean science. She had grown up in Night Vale’s hospital and doctors had always belittled her for her strange mindset, but she had felt comfortable with us.

Then we realized she was not as collected as she usually is. Turns out she actually thought that we would throw her out after discovering her origins. D-68465 answered that **the origins are always the cool part of every superhero** and she wouldn’t be the exception. The rest of us gave less quotable reassurances. Our reaction was one of curiosity, not adverse at all. And a new round of questioning started; knowing that she wouldn’t be thrown out, she answered much more freely.

D-68464 asked the big question, namely, why not helping us. D-68470 told us that she had left Night Vale at a young age, and therefore, she didn’t know much about the town now. She hadn’t known how to save Daniel or any of the other Ds for that matter. She would have blown her own cover if she had known what to do. I choose to believe her; she has been far too sincere when she didn't need to be.

Then D-68465 brought a recorder, so the rest of the interview is in add. 83.

Except, probably not; because letting the Foundation know about her is the most likely way of getting her in trouble. So these last paragraphs and the interview will go to my private server. The proper log will be just as every day. This information doesn't add up to anything relevant to the RBH anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: There might be a second update soon. It depends on the comments and my shedule. Do you want a second update before next week?))


	10. Saturday II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: This is a litle rushed, so it may have some [or a lot of] mistakes, but here is my New Year's present for you. Enjoy ;) . ))

**Saturday:**

I woke up at 6:00 AM from a vivid nightmare clutching a pile of books. I felt out of breath, extremely tired and misplaced. I have forgotten the dream; probably because I didn’t write it down immediately, but I was busy inspecting the books. I will have to cross the “going to the library” point in my list; I think this material will be enough for the time being.

I couldn’t start my day at 6:00, so I resigned myself to siting and reading the new material. I’m still reading the first of the title-less, leather-bound tomes. I’ll attach a picture if it lets me take it. I doubt it, though. [Edit: Indeed, the picture is just a page or two of code]

It was written in code; a Nihilist cipher. Once I cracked the key and started to transcribe some words written in Russian in order to find someone to translate them somehow, the code changed. This one was harder (but not impossible) to decode. A cipher made with a Fialka from the soviet side of the Cold War. Again, as soon as I cracked it, the code changed.

 D-68473 came quietly at 7:00, meanwhile I was frustrated and pulling my hair, effectively sending my glasses to the floor. He said his good mornings and left; I guess he went to the bus. Therefore, I still had time to crack the new code before I could reunite everyone in the kitchen.

Following the pattern, it had to be yet another Russian system, so I started to work on it with all I know of historic cryptography. By 7:30 I had deciphered a VIC code. D-68466 had found her way to the kitchen and was trying to read over my shoulder.

I was copying Cyrillic in the tablet when it changed again. I rubbed my eyes, about to give up. For a second, plain Russian flashed before my eyes. I blinked, and it was not Russian any more, but perfectly understandable English. I put on my glasses (they were by the book and next to a cup of coffee but I don’t know where either came from) It might sound crazy, but I think the book was actually proudly puffing its pages with a smug air; as if he had won because I couldn’t desencrypt something that was not really encrypted.

D-68466 handed me some painkillers after having seen me groan aloud several times and asked me to read aloud for her; as all she could see were numbers. I tried, however, everything I said sounded like Russian to her (not to me). D-68471, who just happened to be near and freshly awoken, spoke back to me in Russian and I didn’t understand a word. He switched back to English and told us that he has been fluent in Russian from a very early age. He can’t remember where or from whom he learnt it.

I have no way of knowing if that fact is suspicious or not, or if it ties in with Night Vale at all. I’d say that it does, but he remembers baffling his parents when he was a kid and he hadn’t heard of Night Vale until he was already here.

D-68473 came back at 8:00 with D-68465. At the same time, D-68464 made her way to the coffee pot. D-68470 had come in at some point without my notice. The whole group was once again in the kitchen.

I had not realized until today, but we have adopted a semi-regular unspoken timetable to meet at eating hours for a headcount. To feel safe, maybe? We check that we are all alive and as fine as we can be, but we also share any useful nuggets of information that we came across that day, as well as our short-term plans.

Anyway, this morning we had breakfast with chapter one: Nightvalian Entrails. For once “entrails” is mostly metaphoric and, in fact, the book is about the history of Night Vale (in a non-linear convoluted explanation, of course, because even explanations have to be a riddle here. In fact, reading it felt closer to reciting poetry). I read aloud in English, they listened in Russian and D-68471 translated back to English for them.

I can’t write down a transcript because I keep doing it in Cyrillic and any summary gets automatically encrypted. However, I’ve noticed that even though I can’t mention 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 I can write my original conclusions without fear of encryption[.](http://www.base64encode.org/)

If we consider the book a valid source and not a way of making fun of us, or stalling us; the not-yet-town was a physic-laws-abiding-space long before the first _human_ settlement came to be. The hooded figures and the city council are much more related to the root of the anomaly than Cecil. I can’t trust such a feeble clue, and I can think of five different ways in which Cecil could _still_ be the main axis in a place with fluctuating groups of power.

The Voice of Night Vale could be the power in the shadows; a title, inherited or won, to control the power in the spotlight. He could be a go-to in case of conflict. But he could also be a valued asset manipulated by whoever is in charge, like a regular showman: someone to control and take the temperature of the citizens. I’ll look into it ASAP.

Further inferences from the book can be found in add 84; the addendum will be an “in progress” work until I finish reading and analyzing.

Content aside, something more came from the book; a note fell from the last pages. Surprisingly, it was hand-written; even more surprisingly, it looked like my handwriting in a twisted way (could I have a double like Vanessa and he is the one who wrote it? Or is that how I write when I’m too nervous? A mind controlled me? An older, short-sighted me? Not me, but someone with a similar calligraphy?). I can’t have sleep-written it because “Writing implements” disappeared after the fire incident.

 

 

 

It reads “Get her to give you the recordings, your time-line is at stake.”

I slipped the note in my pocket and proceeded to change topics because my mind kept thinking of worst case scenarios. I told my Ds about the chips and proceeded to extract them (the chips) without much trouble. My knowledge of the chips comes from my participation in a high level project that I won’t mention here because it will get redacted anyway. I will need my Ds for longer than the standard 1 month period.

After cleaning up, we found out that we are almost out of everything, and with “everything” I mean money. I have sent several letters, e-mails, carrier pigeons, carrier pipersnakes and more unconventional messengers to the Foundation; first asking, then complaining, and lately just making a point (That I think they will get as soon as the snakes start coming out from their sewers). I know at least one should have reached its destination because it has worked for my Ds and their relatives on the outside (though they were not supposed to make contact with the outside, and I am supposed to not be aware of their misdemeanor)

I can only assume that the Foundation has abandoned this project. I’ll have a confirmation on the 15th when I go to the meeting point. It is sad, all the same, that I have to fear my own organization. If the point of sending us here was to get rid of me, I know that there will be someone at the meeting point to give me the strongest amnesiacs they can find; or a bullet, that too. That might be what Daniel saw, though I guess he’ll never tell us now.

Anyway, we don’t have any income, and after Stexcorp’s job offer combusted I’m sure the town won’t let me leave to get a different job. And the community college is out of the picture, because I should start over to learn what they consider science; kindergarden kids understand this place better than I do. Ilaria told me as much that afternoon in AlmostVenice; D-68470 has confirmed her words. So I’ll have to starve or swear off sciences altogether.

Back to this morning, we went to Ralph’s. D-68464 made a show of buying effortlessly. She jumped booby traps, chose the edible goods over the poisoned ones, scaled her way to the drinks and ducked the pencil-shooting walls like the heroine of some blockbuster. D-68465 and I mostly cheered from afar and caught in the cart what she threw our way. I’m tempted to say it was fun.

When we were paying I saw the chewing gum display. They sell the strangest things in Ralph’s, but the lavender chewing gum is what struck me as the strangest of all. The brand is the same that my grandmother used to give me when I was a kid, even with the same purple salamander on the side. It became my favorite flavor, as is prone to happen with good childhood memories, but I couldn’t find it anywhere after my grandma passed away and I gave up on looking for such a thing as lavender gum.

But I’ve been lured with nostalgia feelings before: back in the labs, with some SCPs, and here with Ilaria. I checked if it was just an illusion. However, the gum didn’t disappear when I touched it, and D-68465 and D-68464 could see it too. It is probably real and I’ll probably buy a full bag if I ever have a new source of income.

The memories of my grandmother stirred more reminiscences that tangled with what I mentioned on my report from Friday. I had a strange feeling upon seeing the angels, and maybe that part is normal. But I also felt kind used to them, to their faces and their shapes. They radiated an aura of familiarity. That emotion sparked the same feeling towards more things, things from Night Vale.

I didn’t realize at first, it was kind of a déjà vu, and since the RBH is still going on, I thought someone was reaching for my memories. But I can’t deny it anymore if I want to keep my sanity in place and not get delusional. I’ve dreamed of this place before coming here: maybe not only of this place, but also of this time. I need more time to remember.

I’ve gone through those half-built, blurry, dim memories. I’ve seen the angels before. I’m not sure if I can trust the memories with all the mind boggling beings that could be living here AND targeting me. Nevertheless, I remember chills when a colleague mentioned a perfectly normal dog park. I remember being unfazed with SCPs that made others cower. I remember waking well rested from dreams that should have made me tremble in terror even as an adult. I’ve been remembering similar things for the last hours.

The most powerful memory that has come to me is not from my time in the Foundation, but from my childhood (keep in mind that this could be the town creating memories to scare me, make me stay or drive me crazy). I remember my grandmother telling me stories and kid-prayers about guardian angels with a colored book. I told her that angels were not like that and I gave her a detailed (grotesque for a child) description of what now I realize are both Erikas. My grandmother gave me an odd look, but she never said that I was wrong.

I wonder if she knew about this town or if she was letting her grandson’s imagination go wild. At this point I can’t dismiss any possibility, but I’m seriously worried.

They feel like real memories. I’ve had memories implanted before in the Foundation, but those were too detailed, like watching a film in HD. What I’m remembering now has the weird quality of faulty human brains. I can’t remember what time of day it was, but I remember the smell of the bread and chocolate that she had given me. I can’t remember why mama had left me at her mother’s house, but I remember that that evening I painted the solar system under my bed and she didn’t discover it until months later.

I got pulled from my own thoughts when the glowing cashier asked us if we had any change. I didn’t, but my fingers found the note in my pocket. On our way back I asked D-68464 for the recordings. She agreed to give them back if she could be there when I listened, but only after going to meet Cecil that afternoon. I knew she was messing with me, but I didn’t want to risk the note being true (even though there is a small chance of her being the one who wrote it), so I accepted her terms.

She stayed for lunch and she will be back at 18:30

* * *

Fine. I will try calm down and start again from the point where I left it: D-68464 came back. When D-68466 asked after her afternoon, she said:

“Neat! We couldn’t visit the station. Management is twitchy and nobody wants to be around unless it is absolutely necessary. Instead, we’ve been sharing videos and we’ve been _bowling_ Night Vale style. I’m really surprised of what Old Woman Josie can do with her phone; then again, her Facebook wall is really cool, and I think she likes my shoelaces so I should not be that surprised. ¡Oh! And Erikas number one and two came along, but they stayed on lane 5 and didn’t talk much.”

She saw me and she cut short her explanation to physically drag me to the laboratory. She gave me my tablet and got a second one for herself. Then she produced the recordings from I still don’t know where. She was smiling so much I feared Strexcorp had managed to take her too.

I enclose the notes I took and D-68464’s notes interspersed. I stopped the recording regularly to have time to write, she spent more time watching my expression and my notes than taking her own. In hindsight, it makes sense.

* * *

Nice voice indeed, the “radio voice”, I see the difference. The kind of voice you want narrating your life or telling you secrets.

**_He is so going to regret writing that in ten._ **

Melody might be hypnotic?

**_Actually, I can totally see how it could be hypnotic._ **

Sounds too normal, like any station - No, not anymore. (city council IMP) (content or other?)

**_Carlos, remind me to tell you about the dog park, two days ago and a mirror._ **

**_Might be important._ **

The dog park; we’ve been very close. I’ve been warned before. I’ll have to go to investigate someday. Pretty normal, all things considered. (probably content, not other, linked to survival)

**_Aaand we are getting to the fun part…_ **

News: Josie (angels have not always been there?) We didn’t meet any black angel. How many of them? Why so domestic? Josie didn’t offer any bulb, she finally sold it?

**_Any second now. How I wish I could film this._ **

**_You are a spoilsport for not letting me film, Carlos._ **

New man in town? (!) me. Ok, now I get all the “perfect hair” everyone teased me with, honestly, it is not that funny; it is just a single mention from a man on the radio. However, I understand that someone on the radio laughs at the boss’ hair and all the workers follow. I’d have done the same if the boss was other than me.

**_Well, that was underwhelming. He honestly doesn’t get it? I’ll wait until the “instantly” part and if he doesn’t react I’ll have to shake some common sense out of him._ **

But, “We have all been scientists”? Is that a demeaning statement? Science=unimportant?

Serious: We were seen very quickly. There was some measurement of curiosity, but he sounds adverse to our visit. He knew we were here since the beginning and he even sounds concerned; we have been a threat for him all this time? He didn’t kill/harm us?? Why???

**_Because he’d never touch that beautiful hair of yours, dummy._ **

Big Rico’s is not even creepy anymore, there are far worse things.

 **_Agreed_ ** _._

Normal again (safety in the scrublands)-Not normal anymore.

Helicopters. I had not given them any thought. Helicopters are so common in the facilities of the foundation… (note: I think I have a few of them in pictures, now I can add which is which) (secret police appears here) (are they good? At least they are real and appear to be what it says in the tin, except for the “secret” bit) Normal again?

Definitely: content=safety there is nothing memetic in the recording.

**_I’m getting bored here. Can’t we just jump straight to the juicy parts?_ **

**_The part where you go into cardiac arrest, yes, please?_ **

I’m slightly disturbed by the sudden changes of tone. Serious to lighthearted in 0.001s. Plane in gym, weird but not harmful. Priorities? Investig

Desert bluffs?? Why didn’t my DS remember this? Why does that man mention them as if nothing?

**_Seriously, what?! I have a good memory, I’ve listened to this recording a thousand times to evaluate threats and I never noticed the Bluffers!! I swear, Carlos, I would have said something. I guess I thought they were harmless!?!?_ **

NO, DB would have been more destructive. DB would have filled the plane with children before crashing it. That plane can’t be DB’s doing. Ridiculous.

Maybe it is a way of raising awareness? Hate the enemy? Blame the enemy even when innocent?

**_Now I feel guilty for not remembering them. Perfect._ **

So, yes, me again. He knows my name, not strange. Town meeting, he was there. I didn’t recognize him. Why? And what’s up with this guy and descriptions? Military cemetery, that one is new. Compliments? Sarcastic compliments? Ok, so, He didn’t mention it once, but twice, and my hair became some kind of local meme thanks to Cecil. I’d laugh if it wasn’t me.

Anyway, why the hair? I’ve been teased for my skin, my orientation, my personality… my hair is just hair!

**_Not SARCASTIC you, you… I’ll have to spell it out for you, right?_ **

Josie again. Angels and salt?

**_Ask nicely and I tell you the function of the salt ;D_ **

Yes, my study “about the town”, he doesn’t seem to know that is him and not the town who I’m studying? He doesn’t sound as worried as before; much more curious. Then why was he so nervous when we met?

**_Wait for it. Not even you can mishear this one._ **

He WHAT?! Seriously?!

**_That’s the face!! Like the laws of logic turned upside-down!!_ **

**_He’ll start to blush in a matter of seconds._ **

**_No! What now?! That’s far too composed. Why. No. Blush. ?_ **

No, ok, no. I almost fell for it but I understand. I do! It is some kind of sarcastic comment again. He is using a serious, professional voice for a practical joke; he is being sarcastic. He meant the opposite, “I hated him instantly”. Then everyone misunderstood including my Ds. When we met, he either thought I had misunderstood too, or he was ashamed of talking about someone like that even if joking…

But why did he hate me instantly then? Maybe he is protective over his town and he doesn’t want us poking around? But if he really hated me I’d be dead, right? Maybe it is still harmless foreigner mocking. Maybe he does that with every newcomer.

But he didn’t mock any of my Ds (?)

**_No! Stupid, stubborn Carlos. I WILL have to explain it to you. I hate you._ **

I’m tempted to stop listening right now. D-68464 won’t let me, but I’m very tempted nevertheless. I was blissfully happy living in ignorance.

“I fear for Carlos” Oh, how I feel the headache that this is going to create. I thank any god, elder or otherwise, that planned it so only D-68464 would be here. I can almost hear the teasing already. Never mind the secret agency at the back during that meeting. They can’t be that bad if they have not hurt us yet.

But my Ds? They will drive me crazy. I just know it.

Ow, and I already wrote that I like the voice.

They will have no mercy.

I’ve had to listen the recreation area part three times now and I still don’t know what it is saying. I can’t concentrate. D-68464 has not taken a single note for a while and she is not helping the situation at all.  

I need a break  
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

I left the tablet where it was and tried to go outside. Only _tried_ ; because on the other side of the door I had eavesdroppers blocking my way. (Not D-68466 and I’ll have to thank her for it later) They looked enormously amused at first, then slightly apprehensive when they looked at me closely. They let me go to the kitchen before the effect of my face wore off. They started to ramble about Cecil and his _feelings_ , growing more salacious as minutes passed. They enjoyed every time I told them to leave me alone and teased me because I had not listened to the whole recording.

“So, you still think he’s a monster?”

“Still a better love story than Twilight.”

“Why that face? He likes you! That is good!”

“You look like he kicked your balls, man!”

“He didn’t blush; it’s such a pity, really.”

 “C’mon he’s got a sexy voice. Imagine how that’d sound in bed”

 “I’m sure he would pull that hair of yours”

“Instantly”

“And you’ve been studying _him_ very hard”

They didn’t let me answer, or they didn’t listen to me at all, and they definitely didn’t give me time to think over the new circumstances. D-68464, D-68471 and D-68465 were the most enthusiastic in their teasing and I won’t forget about it easily. They also though that I would return Cecil’s feelings and that it would be love at first hear. Like some perfect fairytale in the radio waves.

 I simply stood up to leave, multiple times, because I really needed fresh air and time. They didn’t let me, but in the end I managed to sneak back into the lab and close the lock. D-68464 can pick it whenever she wants, but they either got bored or they thought it was not worth the effort.

I spent half an hour staring at the recordings, trying to think, and being unable to stop wondering what the not-listened recording and a half said. As a result, I made use of the headphones and spent the rest of the evening listening to Cecil’s voice, time and again, without taking notes, just listening.

I still think that Cecil was just playing some kind of game. The second recording doesn´t even mention me, so I think that, whatever it was, it is over. And I’m glad of having unknowingly survived it. However, I still have doubts. And I’ll probably keep having them.

When I left the lab, the living quarters were mostly empty. D-68464 was washing dishes. The others had to be sleeping already (I guess laughing tires them more than life threatening experiences). I was going to leave for my bedroom too, but D-68464 had other plans.

“Dishes are not going to dry themselves”

Which in D-68464’s world is a polite, reasonable way of saying “Wait, I want to have a chat”. I sighed and helped her, and she opened the conversation with something about the books, this morning and the library. Later she apologized (but she was grinning, so it’s not a valid apology) and then she said “at least the guy is cute” which brought the conversation back to Cecil.

I confessed that I didn’t exactly know what he looked like (and according to the last intervention in recording 1, I’ve seen him more than once). Then she shared a theory; she has been talking to the other Ds and each one of them has given her a different description of the radio host, but all of them say that he is as they had pictured him from his voice, more or less (D-68464 includes herself in that statement). We talked about expectations, optic illusions, and the things that our brain feeds us when we face something that we don’t understand.

She gave me some solid arguments why she thinks that Cecil is being sincere in his recordings (Hence my doubts). She also says that she never mentions me or my investigation when she meets him. And so she will not tell me anything about him that she learns from those meetings. Therefore, all her arguments are based on the recordings. Strange, but that makes me trust her more than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: Good luck with the encrypted bit. It is not cryptography per say, but there is Russian and two steps required. **_Clue:_ Base _d in gadolinium (Gd)._**  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))


	11. Sunday (more or less)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far ('cause I’ve been away, and you shouldn’t need to go to the previous chapter to remember where we are): Carlos came to Night Vale to study The Voice, but the town killed half of his guinea pigs. The remaining ones are sturdy, hard to kill, more intelligent than your average D and quite likeable, but Carlos probably won’t admit that.  
> We lost 78 to Desert Bluffs, BUT we swore to get him back, BUT then we remembered that he has a chip that will kill him on the next recording day anyway. We are feeling conflicted about that. Remember?  
> Carlos & co. have been investigating/escaping, but their resolve is crumbling. 65 fell in love with a local, 70 was a different local all along, 66 has visions that wouldn’t be appreciated outside, 71 wants to save everyone, but that now somehow includes Night Vale itself, 73 is still not OK despite his claims, 64 is still her cryptic little shitself; adapting surprisingly quickly; and Carlos wouldn’t be having a mental breakdown this big if he had read the comments of this fic and had listened to the recordings sooner. We all suspect that's not the only wrong thing with him.  
> Oh! And they are still poor as dirt.  
> 4 days 4 new recording day!

**Sunday:**

In fact, it is Sunday, but only if you go by the community calendar, which I have been foolishly using for a couple of weeks. I’ve been counting and today must be Wednesday outside. Wednesday eleventh of July of two thousand and twelve; I wouldn’t have noticed (not even when we had two Saturdays in a row) had a stack of letters not appeared on our doorstep today.

We were all surprised, since “no post on Sunday” is one of the few rules that actually apply here. Then we realized that the letters were from the outside, so we must have mismatched schedules. Nobody was surprised when none of the letters turned out to be from the Foundation.

I handled the envelopes with utmost care: not touching them with bare hands, not reading them, not even looking at them and storing them in several opaque Tupperwares in the backyard, where we would be able to breathe fresh air. Then we all repeated “Desert Bluffs is terrible” to check if we were infected: we were not. D-68473 went on, saying an elaborate speech about the endless evils that plague the heinous town. D-68464 swore vengeance upon their damned souls and beyond death.

A little later, while D-68470 was performing chemical tests on the cut corner of one of the envelopes, Vithia came to see D-68465. She helped by drawing a containment circle around the Tupperwares. Well, I say “drawing” but she seems to be very used to this kind of impromptu rituals, because her empty purse can be unfolded and swiftly transformed into a round piece of cloth with “basic” sigils that can be customized for multiple uses.

She described it as “the utility knife for the modern woman”, easily washable. Includes a cochineal marker, with real cochineals! Then she handed me an advertisement and told me that she is an expert in functional fashion and that she’d be thrilled to share her secrets with any fashion lover. (Apparently functional fashion is a trend here, along with outrageously eccentric, and my lab coats qualify as practical and fashionable. I wonder if functional fashion became a trend for the survival of the best dressed)

 

Anyway, D-68470 came back and announced that the envelopes didn’t have any strange compound. Vithia confirmed that they didn’t have harmful spells either. I asked what she meant “harmful” and she explained that there were traces of a mobility spell, probably due to the new post system. (Listen to recording 1, the real post office is still closed)

So I opened the Tupperwares (still wearing gloves, gasmask and dark goggles, just in case) and only my arms were within the contention circle. Nothing happened, not even when I ripped some of them open. I only recognized one; the one from the UIU (Unusual Incidents Unit). In it they offer me a good salary, health care and a retirement plan if I work for them; the standard for the UIU. It is not the first time someone in the Foundation receives one of these letters. It would be the first time someone cones back from their tender care.

There is only one letter not job-related; it is from Aperture Laboratories, a warning message to be on the lookout for Doug Rattmann. It says that he is dangerous and has schizophrenia. They attach a photo. I’ll pin it in the wall with the others, but after the Foundation’s treatment I’m not about to use the “contact information in case you meet him”. Even though I’m almost sure I know the poor soul who has been “dumped and haunted” by these laboratories. Furthermore, I’m not lying; I don’t know any Doug Rattmann, he is not using that name.

Besides that one oddity, all the other letters are job offers from agencies and universities that not even Vithia knows. I have one from F.E.A.R., one from Abstergo, from Beyond Corporation©, Contoso, InGen, North Central Positronics, Omni Consumer Products, A.I.M., Bonk Business, Dr. Zeus Inc… and those are only some of the ones written in English. Some of them are not written in any human understandable language.

This sudden, well-timed flood of job offers is worrying. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that my tablet has been hacked, despite it not having internet connection. My Ds swear up and down that they have not leaked my CV nor told anyone about our situation (and that, I don’t believe, D-68465 is a busybody at heart). It could also be a simple case of the town being offended because I suggested that it would let us starve rather than leave. That was Vithia’s idea and I have no idea of how she knows that I wrote that in my last report, but this Nightvalian tendency of not caring about the difference between personal and public is mildly disturbing.

I have already considered the town as a sentient being; but it was always in abstract, theoretical, easily dismissed thoughts. Not in a concrete I-got-offended-and-sent-you-job-offers-to prove-you-wrong. However, it was Vithia who suggested it, so maybe the locals have a religion or superstitions about it?

D-68470 proved that she has a logical mind by remembering a hive-thought-process experiment that was used on us some time ago (“us” as in “the whole town”). It tried to achieve a collective-dream state so we would be easier to control in our sleep; a lousy work by the secret police that they tried to cover up by asking everybody to go to some gymnasium, to keep silent, and to get drunk.

D-68464 says she went to check that day: the gymnasium was empty and stayed consistently empty, so probably people decided that the option of dinking to forget was the correct one.

At the moment I didn’t pay any attention to the experiment, because I was having nightmares as usual anyway. Also, it didn’t work as they planned, and I was focused on the Voice, but D-68470 has suggested that they might have improved their design in the last weeks. Maybe one of us dreamt of our situation and they listened in.

Whatever the reason, now there is a stack of job offers on the kitchen counter, I’ll have to think about it, because the Foundation has not answered yet. (The pipesnakes are back and they would have brought their message with them. Even if they had managed to scare anyone at the labs (unlikely), the snakes are harmless, and someone would eventually realize that they were waiting for an answer to deliver back. No, this means that someone explicitly told the pipesnakes to return empy-handed)

 

  
 

Here are some of the letters. I have never seen such logotypes,

but they look professional and even legit.

 

Vithia and D-68465 left soon after D-68470; once they were reassured that they were not needed anymore and could go flat-hunting without having to come back to dust and ashes instead of a house (Vithia took her purse with her, but I would like to study it at some point). D-68470 thought that she would be able to get some information about the medic-related job offers at NV’s hospital or at the community college. She announced that she wouldn’t be back until dinner.

D-68464 left too, but she was going to ask around; nowhere in particular. She seems to do that a lot. I wonder, once again, what she used to do. She has a scientific mind, but her method is… unorthodox, a bit like the town itself. Where I keep quiet and deduce from what I see, she goes out, asks, and involves herself like a reporter would. Nevertheless, I won’t criticize her method when it brings her such good results, and if she can throw some light on the question at hand I won’t be the one to dismiss any resource.

However, I’m not sure about the dream-theory. Even though I like it better than the sentient-town one, there are some things that it can’t explain: Some of the offers are just cold business, just like any formal letter, but most of them are not; they know things they should know nothing about. They inquire about projects that I started years ago in private. Personal inventions and gadgets from my early years that never amounted to anything because I had not started to learn real science yet; things I barely remember… and I know I have not dreamed about my old contraptions lately.

What’s worse, there is one particular university that has shown interest in a theory that I have been developing since I arrived in town. Of course I have never published the theory about the unbalanced continuum nor the discovery of a speculative “magic” particle. I have not mentioned it, ever, and I have not written it down in case someone would steal it. However, they say they have “read” my theory in “my book”; they don’t make it sound like an academic publication. Then they invite me to visit their library and they attach some bibliography that they think would be interesting to develop this still inexistent theory.

Of course, if they have that information, what else do they know? What will they do if I don’t accept their offers?  Who is that obscure “they”? What else am I ignoring?

However dreadful, that train of thought was actually quite nice and I had hoped to ride it until midnight station. But everything good comes to an end, and with D-68470, D-68464 and the happy couple’s departure, the rest of my Ds remembered that they should be making fun of me. And so they did, of course they did. And they are growing wounding.

I barely remember what they said; I’m not interested in recalling it either. I know their jabs are well-meaning, but they are hurting my scientific pride and my pride, full stop. If they were just unimportant lab assistants I’d kick them out, or I’d shout at them. However, at some point they became friends/family and every time I’m about to shout back I remember D-68466’s prediction.

If her prophetic abilities are working fine, they will leave, die, or something worse. I can’t bring myself to talk back because I fear they will run off if I say the wrong thing. If they have to leave, I don’t want it to be my fault/responsibility.

* * *

D-68470 came back sooner than expected and she pulled me away to inform me of the situation of the correspondence. In fact, she took me to Big Ricco’s even though we have already met the weekly quota. She told me over a pear and fuzzy grapes pizza that the letters are all real job offers from real agencies, just not from this dimension. The hospital has collaborated with some of the institutions for classified reasons.

There is a file in add 89 explaining each of the organizations with medical branches thanks to D-68470. She seems to like the idea of acting as a link between these organizations and Night Vale. According to her, a partnership would enable both parts to develop overlapping projects a 38.9% faster.

When I inquired about the subjects of study that the college and hospital had shown her, she mentioned just about everything; from biomechanic prosthetics to means to preach to bacteria. Then she changed topics asking me why I knew so much about so many fields and why did I end up in the foundation.

“You don’t fit the definition of any kind of scientist that I remember; you don’t even fit the description of a paranormal researcher. Why?” were her exact words.

So I had to tell her about my life story, my ease to learn, my constant fluttering around many sciences, my inability to remain constant in one field, my proclivity to mix what was made to be separate with outlandish results. And how the foundation found me sleeping in a lab, after an all-nighter with an experiment I no longer remember, surrounded by creatures from who-knows-where (I feel the need to add that to the day nobody in the foundation, me included, knows what I did to summon the creatures; I’ve been told the lab in question is still in quarantine). Of course I fell in love with a science that I had not pocked yet; of course the foundation didn’t let me wander to other fields ever again after that.

She was paying far too much attention for my liking; she also had a very deep in thought face during the whole explanation. Once more, the fear of scaring her off assaulted me. However, when my Ds think and keep quiet I have very good reasons to worry that have nothing to do with prophecies and everything to do with “there is something that could potentially kill us all, but I’ll save it for the very last second”.

Later, D-68464 found us. She sat next to me, stole a slice of eggs’ ears pizza from D-68470 and proceeded to tell that the non-medical letters were real too (her report letter by letter is in add 90) if not from this realm either. (Note: D-68464 said “realm” but D-68470 said “dimension” they might not be the same thing)

Then she took us for a walk because she wanted to show me something about the dog park. And surely in the short time it takes to get there they had to go back to the topic of Cecil. They weren’t nearly as bothersome, they were only two, they even listened, and D-68464 was kind of willing to take my side since last night. Also, since yesterday’s report I’ve listened to the recordings and reread my own notes a hundred times.

So I admitted that there was a very good chance that Cecil was being sincere (and they received that with twin creepy smiles). I told them that I am not as dim as they thought too. Back then, I had a pretty good idea of why they laughed at me, but I didn’t want it to be true. I trusted they had misunderstood something. That there was some double meaning to it, something nefarious. I trusted that I wouldn’t need to write down in my (then) very serious report that my subject of study was infatuated with me.

For some reason, that is enormously funny to them.

“What made you change your mind? Was it the hair? Or the “instantly”? Because, let me tell you, the way he says that word is downright sinful.” D-68464 sounded amused.

“No. That’s the reason I had hope it was a joke. The change of mind comes from the last part; where he says he fears for me and for the town. He is in tune with the town; I don’t think he would joke about that.”

“So?” countered D-68470

“So! He put me in the same level as his precious town! That is much more relevant than any silly compliment carelessly thrown to the radio waves. And he was jittery when we met and still kept quiet; he is a journalist, but he didn’t ask a single question, not to me.”

“Just that?” pressed D-68470

“And D-68464 has not discouraged the idea, even though she has kept her word. She has not told me a single word about him, but I strongly believe that if he had mentioned that he was just joking D-68464 would have told me. This makes me think that he is keeping the same attitude with the microphone off.”

D-68464 smiled broadly. By then we had reached the Dog Park and she produced a mirror from a pocket. I had to blink twice because the thing is monstrous, ridiculously ugly. The handle is made of silver and nacre, the frame and the back depicts unnameable creatures. It also looks ludicrously expensive.

“Are you seriously pulling a Granger on this?”

With a chuckle but no answer, D-68464 made us turn our backs to the Dog Park and look into the mirror. There was a foggy landscape on the other side, behind our reflection; there were tall shadows and ruins. I thought it looked like the entrance to an ancient city. The fog crawled around the rocks and the trees. It wriggled as if there was intent to its moves and it climbed up the tall shadows. There was some kind of exchange between the shadows and the fog and I can’t help but wonder if the fog would do the same with a human, because the shadows didn’t look human. Funnily enough, they didn’t look like hooded figures either.

However, my memory is not perfect because right then a voice interrupted us.

“Hey there! Stop! Secret Police, you are not allowed to look at the Dog Park for any length of time. You will have to come with me for re-education” The voice had the distinct quality of a megaphone, but there was nobody in sight. D-68464 lowered the mirror and displayed the innocent smile that promises hell.

“We were not looking at the Dog Park. We were merely standing here using a mirror, sir.” She displayed the item.

“But you were looking at the Dog Park in the mirror.” A figure came out of hiding, but I wouldn’t be able to say from where. He had lowered his microphone and came toward us slowly.

“Technically, we were looking at the refracted light coming from our backs, no manner of Dog Park… sir” He seemed confused under all that paramilitary gear. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was trying. He approached us looking at the mirror suspiciously.

“But the reflection of a Dog Park is a Dog Park” He was probably trying to convince himself more than us. However, D-6870 didn’t give him any room to think.

“Dog Park!? Sir!? You KNOW there is no such thing in Night Vale! Furthermore, what is that park that you say?! What is your clearance? Because I know Dog Parks are just stuff of legends. Don’t you, sir!? Or have you been doing something illegal like knowing of the existence of a Dog Park in town, sir?!”

The man looked alarmed for a second. Then he tried to shush D-68470. He looked around and seemed to throw all caution out the window.

“Ugh. Give me that.” He said taking the mirror from D-68464 “If I go down I want to know why.” Then he assumed the same position as us and all four of us looked once again. Except, D-68470 didn’t really let me concentrate.

“Carlos, you said that you hoped it was just a joke.”

“Again? Yes! Why is it so hard to understand? I still wish it was a joke”

“Why? Isn’t it flattering?” D-68464 stopped paying attention to the mirror too.

“Yes, flattering, but it is awkward”

“Oh! You are talking about Cecil!” And that’s when not even the agent paid attention to the mirror anymore. “We have a poll going in the headquarters.”

“A poll?” D-68464 said at the same time as me.

“I want in.” She added.

“Oh! Wait, is it because you are not into men?” D-68470 posed.

“So I’m safe if I wager on ‘no’?”

 “No, not that. It’s just. Just me. Look, whenever it is not a joke, things get complicated. If I even consider it, I’ll lose my focus.”

“So you _are_ into men.”

“Yes, but no, oh, you’ll make me say it right, here we go, I’m…”

However, the thing about everybody gossiping and having a say in my private life is that there was no one looking at the mirror, or at the streets, or at the sun setting, or at the thing that attacked D-68464.

We didn’t have any time to react; we didn’t see it coming and we didn’t see it leaving. All we could see was some luminescence and D-68464 falling to the ground. Fortunately she pulled herself up again and didn’t spare a glance to us; she just sprung into action, but she didn’t know where to look for her attacker. The Sheriff agent had aimed his handgun in the right direction, quickly, but there was no target in sight. After we made sure the thing was gone, D-68470 checked D-68464 for injuries or concussion and Mr. Balaclava insisted on following us home. Not that he wouldn’t have done it anyway.

Once we reached our street he pulled a vanishing act again. Not teleportation or invisibility, he simply merged with the street. It is fascinating and I want to know what or who is behind that trick. Badly.

But there was a surprise waiting in our living room, so I will have to figure it out some other day. Vithtia and D-68465 were back and they had brought company. D-68464 wanted to stay and be social; D-68470 and I wanted her in bed and resting. We reached an agreement where she stayed for the introductions and we didn’t forcefully put her to bed with narcotics.

There were more, but the only names I remember are Paolo, Brad, Jerry, Stacey, Richard and the guy they had been looking for when sunset caught them unaware, Chad. They think that he has joined the “World government” but they want solid proof. I think that organization was mentioned in the recordings, I’ll have to check. They seem to be very good friends of Vithia and recent acquaintance of D-68465. All of them were loud, young and jaunty, but also local citizens, knowledgeable and all kinds of interesting.

They will be spending the night here. I’m starting to realize that opening your doors to strangers in need must be far more common than I initially thought. The search party will leave tomorrow first thing in the morning, but I think we will be seeing more of them soon.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: I'm still on hiatus and working on my exams, not back to regular schedule, but I wanted to thank you for your patience somehow. Any typos and mistakes are my own, no time for revision. And thank you in advance if you spot and report one of those sneaky bastards.)


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